


At the end of Aisle 3

by Angryangryowl, Miss_L



Category: Sherlock (TV), Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Grieving John, Lost Khan, M/M, Post-Reichenbach
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-28
Updated: 2014-02-21
Packaged: 2018-01-06 12:53:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 22,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1107064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angryangryowl/pseuds/Angryangryowl, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_L/pseuds/Miss_L
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Khan is lost in Sherlock era earth without a way home. He meets John Watson, still deeply in shock after the death of his best friend. They have tea. Fluff and romance and smut ensues ;) A joint work between Miss_L and angryangryowl.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic will alternates between points of view. Some canon of Khan's past isn't clear for the new movies so I borrowed a little from the old stuff. Hope you enjoy, my co-author will be right along with the next chapter!

Khan was never entirely sure how he found himself in a larger London branch of Tesco. The use of decidedly primitive Starfleet technology to travel in time back to before his cryogenic suspension was definitely an error of judgement. This place was nothing like the London in which he was frozen. He discovered himself almost a century too early, and left with unusable technology and unsure of a way back to his crew. Even for a genetically engineered superhuman, this presented a puzzle.

Sustenance had always been a necessary evil, and his superior genes usually allowed extremely efficient consumption of calories. If he were on board his own ship, his meals were usually comprised of water and some form of synthetic lean protein, combined with a catalogue of vitamins, minerals, carbohydrates and fibre to create a palm-sized disc, consumed in a few bites twice a day. Certainly, he had eaten, and even enjoyed similar nutrition to that on earth. Perhaps not of this time period. But time travel always stirred a curious urge for ‘real’ food deep in his brain.

He entered the shop, striding purposefully through the aisles. What would he need? Something which would not require all his energy to digest, introduce pathogenic bacteria into his digestive tract, or attract too much attention if he consumed it in public. His clothes and physique had already earned him a few rather surprised, if unsubtle glances. One particular young office worker had made a particularly lewd comment about his leather trousers. 

The people milling around outside, smoking, sitting on concrete benches, and some of the younger ones in groups on the ground, all seemed to be eating sandwiches. That seemed a wise, although slightly disappointing choice. That then, what looked like a cardboard sandwich in a cardboard pack, marked as ‘just cheese’. He would be the judge of that, he thought sullenly. And some water, and an apple. Enough to keep his belly occupied and mind focussed for now.

He strode toward the till. His sharp observations of those around him allowed him to quickly gather enough information to fade into the background. In his behaviour at least. In the distance, standing by the cigarette counter, there was a sight enough to suddenly stop him in his tracks. After many years of life, and unshakable confidence in his form and intellect, very little gave him a reason to pause.

A woman, a little younger than him in appearance, was waiting. She looked almost as though she was looking for someone. The soft and dark curls of her hair, a whispering blush of pink across her cheekbones and her simple and form-fitting black clothes. For a second, his beloved stood before him again. Long dead, along with his homeworld, and yet somehow reanimated. She laughed as a man approached her. Tall and suited, with gently curling red hair, he encircled her waist and kissed her, before they left holding hands. Taken from him too soon again. Shaking the memories from his mind, he strode forward with new purpose, he would pay and leave, and then work out exactly now to get home.

He couldn’t help but stare a little. His sight caught on her like clothing on a stray nail. His eyes followed her out of the door, and – bam! He had impacted a little harder than necessary with a man wandering listlessly up the aisle. 

The breath huffed out of the smaller man as he walked squarely into Khan’s well-muscled chest ‘Sorry, mate, wasn’t thinking’ he mumbled, hardly looking into Khan’s face. As Khan opened his mouth to apologise, he seemed to look again, this time focussing on Khan’s eyes. Squinting, trying to remember something. Khan observed the man’s own hazel-green eyes, unusual to him as most genetically engineered beings had the favoured bright, almost oxymethane blue, like his own. The rims of them were red and swollen, like someone who had recently been crying. Grey peppered through his sandy blonde hair, furthering his tired, washed out appearance.

‘Sherlock?’ he mumbled softly, almost in wonder. 

‘Who is Sherlock?’ Khan enquired, raising an eyebrow at the slightly bizarre question.

‘Oh, sorry. Nobody. Well, somebody, but...he’s dead now. You just reminded me, that’s all.’

He shrugged apologetically, and went to move away.

‘I am deeply sorry to hear that. I trust I did not injure you in my carelessness.’ Even to his own ears Khan’s deep voice rumbled, away from his crew he had very little need to speak.

‘Oh no, no, I’m fine!’ He faked a bright smile which did not reach his eyes. ‘Just daydreaming!’

Khan smiled knowingly ‘It happens.’

‘Well, um, as long as you’re okay and I didn’t hurt you...’ 

‘Perfectly well, thank you.’ He said icily. He had no time for formalities or sentiment.

The smaller man went to turn away, but stopped himself again. His eyebrows knitted together, puzzled, his mouth slightly open. As though he needed to say something but couldn’t quite form the words.

‘Look, I just...I don’t normally...’ he huffed out his breath and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to make his words line up neatly before spilling out of his mouth. ‘You just remind me of him so much, even if your hair isn’t the same, your eyes and your lips and..’ he paused, shaking his head in disbelief at what he was saying.  
It was almost as if the words had to spill forth, like a dam had broken somewhere and nothing would stop them. ‘He only died 2 months ago, threw himself off a rooftop, a bloody rooftop, the mad bastard! I’ve never known why, he told me but I didn’t believe him. I thought it was fake. Saw it with my own eyes and still, thought it was fake. But you don’t live through half your brain splattered across the pavement, don’t need to be a doctor to know that...’ he laughed bitterly.

A single, miserable tear slipped unnoticed down the man’s cheek. He took a deep breath, swallowing any further tears ‘So, now that I’ve convinced you of my total insanity...I’ll let you get on your way..’

Khan remembered hearing about an old treatment for shock that involved hot, sweet tea. This man should have been nothing to Khan, but his lost look and clear misery invoked something remarkably close to sympathy in Khan. He knew how it was to lose a love, perhaps for no reason at all, to have ones family so senselessly taken away. This man had been so quickly and violently set adrift that without a rope thrown to him he would simply float away or drown.

Khan placed one of his wide hands on the man’s arm. ‘Are you sure you are well? Could I get you a cup of tea?’. He couldn’t believe he was saying something like this.

‘Oh...’ The man was dumbfounded for a few seconds. Khan hoped his response had not been too much . ‘Um, yeah. That would be nice. That’s very kind Mister...um...’

He looked lost for a second, realising he actually had no idea who this tall, rumbling stranger who was a spitting image of his recently dead best friend was. Khan’s brain immediately informed him loudly to lie. Life would be much easier if he identified himself as Mr. Harrison.

‘Khan’ he said softly ‘Just Khan.’

The blonde man looked a little surprised at first to hear this, but then shrugged. ‘I’m John. John Watson.’ Despite his obvious emotional instability, Khan noted the handshake was strong and firm. Perhaps he had been stronger in his younger days, but still, he looked sturdy across the shoulders, and had a weathered, dependable face. A man to be trusted, he mused.

They left the shop without purchases, a slightly odd couple even as friends, with Khan’s flowing black coat and slicked-back hair. His clothing was still Starfleet issue, although not obviously so. A very fitted black shirt did nothing to hide his powerful chest and arms. John’s slightly mousy, lost look made him a stark contrast. His jumper, jeans and donkey jacket were definitely for comfort rather than style.

In a cafe a few minutes’ walk away, John ordered two mugs of tea, not even asking Khan what he wanted, and flopped down opposite him in a booth.

‘So, Khan. What brings you to London?’


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm just as confused about origin stories and timelines as my esteemed colleague (maybe even more), so please forgive (and don't hesitate to point out) the mistakes and inconsequences.
> 
> Overall, hope you enjoy!
> 
> Miss_L

John wasn't sure what had gotten into him. He was British, damnit, and the British don’t gush about their personal lives and feelings to complete strangers! Especially to complete strangers who look as if they’re in a hurry to get somewhere. Or possibly just anywhere but here. And yet, here he was, sitting in a pub opposite a tall dark stranger (and dear God, did it hurt to see the resemblance to Sherlock – but it hurt even more to see the differences), who looked like he had just stepped out of a sci-fi movie. Alternatively, came back from a Comic con and forgot to change. But perhaps he looked too comfortable in his shiny coat to be wearing a costume. And those muscles…

“I'm sorry?” He had missed the answer, obviously. _Focus, John._

“I said,” Khan answered, tight smile crinkling the corners of his icy blue eyes in that oh-so-familiar fashion, “I'm just looking for a way to get back together with my friends. We got separated.”

“Ah.” John honestly didn't know what to say to that. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

The other man looked at him in disbelief, corners of his mouth twitching as if he had heard something incredibly stupid, but was trying to hold his laughter in. At last, the handsome long face was back to a stony mask. “No, John Watson, there is absolutely nothing you can do to help, but I appreciate the offer. And your company,” he added hastily.

“Ummm… Thanks, Khan.” _God, why do I always attract the really weird ones?_ “So… Khan… Not a common name around these parts, is it? Where are you from, originally?”

The tea arrived, giving both men time to observe each other without the need for incessant small talk. Khan looked focused, almost intense, in his observation of their surroundings. In fact, John felt almost sure that the person on the other side of the table was a soldier, and a damned good one, too. The doctor had never had much use for the typical soldiers’ survival techniques, as he was mostly staying in the field hospital, with an occasional outing to the “battle field” when the wounded needed urgent transport. But Khan seemed to have participated in enough battles, if his vigilance was anything to go by.

The waitress departed, and Khan cleared his throat. His voice had started to loosen, and was now a pleasant purr, deep in his muscl- deep in his chest. “I am from India, originally.” He hoped that India already existed in this time. “But I moved to London when I was still very young.”

“Ah.” John had finally re-found his Britishness, so he refrained from commenting on Khan’s very-not-Eastern appearance. The man seemed to have read his thoughts nonetheless – or perhaps he just got the question too often for comfort.

“I was adopted,” came the curt remark. The discussion was closed.

Together with John’s discretion came back his good manners. “Crap. Sorry, Khan, completely forgot to ask you whether you wanted something else? Eh… Lunch?” Embarrassment, or any other emotion besides grief, wasn't something John had experienced much (or at all) in the past 2 months, and if he had to be honest, it was nice to feel at least part human again. The alien-looking man opposite him eyed him with the same intense expression on his face, then relaxed his facial features into a smile. A _real_ smile – the first. And oh God, it looked like Christmas. Actual, proper Christmas, with mistletoe and presents and lights and a big-arse tree… 

John only noticed that he was gaping when a booming laugh made their table shake – cut short abruptly, but not before the doctor has had time to wonder about the strength of the other man’s vocal chords. Khan still had a mirthful smirk on his lips and a mischievous twinkle in his eye, however. John wondered how often the man was actually, _properly_ amused. His guess made him sad for the funny-looking fellow – oh dear, he was getting old and sentimental!

“I’ll buy food later, John, don’t worry about me. But if you’re hungry, please…”

Watson decided that he could use some lunch, and he was used to being the only one eating anyway. The small talk continued, again only occasionally interrupted by the waitress who kept giving Kahn a confused-but-horny look from under her eyelashes every time she came their way. The man seemed utterly oblivious to the flirtation. 

John didn't manage to learn a lot of personal information about Khan, other than him being extremely calm, almost relaxed, under stress. When some idiot started waving a gun in the street and shouting dramatically that he would “kill every last one of you”, the tall dark man apologized to John (who was just finishing his fish and chips) and went outside. In one fluent motion, he wrestled the gun from the youngster’s hands, sent him flying to his face on the ground, and effectively disabled the cursing shooter with an armlock. When the police arrived soon after, he handed them the boy and went back inside. John noticed that there had been no hesitation in the man’s movements when he had basically walked towards the dangerous end of a fire-arm, and as far as he could see, Khan’s breathing wasn't laboured. Hell, not one hair was out of place on his head!

“What were we talking about?” Khan asked with an amiable smile, as if he hadn't just disarmed a lunatic with a gun.

“Ehm… I was asking where you were staying.” _Wow._

“Oh, I'm not sure. Do you know any cheap motels around here? I’ll probably be moving on tomorrow, but I should rest before then.”

And that was the moment John lost all common sense.

“You can stay at my place, I guess. It’s not terribly tidy, but there’s a… Spare room and my landlady is lovely.” He decided not to think about the repercussions, of which he already knew there would be plenty.

Khan stared at him for a moment, taken aback, but definitely pleased. “Thank you, John, that is very generous of you.” Then _that_ smile illuminated his face again, and John’s trail of thought evaporated completely. “I should like that very much,” the tall dark stranger purred.


	3. Chapter 3

John seemed surprised by Khan’s handling of, admittedly, a potentially lethal situation. It was only when Khan thought about it afterwards that he could see how he might be. In the cafe, an unmistakable glance had passed between them, one war-torn soldier to another. But as yet, Khan had no idea when John had seen conflict or in what capacity he had served. Perhaps walking towards a crazed man with a loaded gun without looking back wasn’t what normal people did. It was not bravado or heroism to Khan. He simply had no reason to doubt himself. He knew he was easily faster, stronger and smarter than anyone he was likely to encounter. Not only that, but the regenerative properties of his blood made him exceptionally hard to kill. He really had nothing to be afraid of.

A closer look at John as he cleared the last remnants from his plate with a slice of bread revealed a few things. The short moment with the gunman would terrify most people into a babbling state of shock, but John seemed calmer and steadier if anything. The crutch he had been walking with when they had met was still propped next to him, but Khan noticed he was no longer reassuring himself it was still there. He was a tidy eater, but quick. The regimented discipline , and the habit of eating as well as possible before he was called away again was something Khan had seen in many of his crew.

John was evidently lonely though. He ran his eyes longingly over Khan’s features whenever he thought he wasn’t looking, willing him to be his dead friend. He could not fathom why his eyes continued to stray to his chest and arms. Did he have something spilled down him? He checked. No. How odd.

He pinched a slice of bread and butter. Watching the other man eat reminded him of how long it had been since he’d eaten himself. John only raised an amused eyebrow at his thievery over the rim of his mug. Both chewed thoughtfully for a few minutes before Khan spoke.

‘Forgive me if I am intrusive but have you always lived in London?’

‘Oh. No, not at all. Suffolk, originally, with my mum and dad. Then medical school, I trained near here actually, and then I joined up. So...fair few years in the army, patching people up, then I got shot, and discharged. London was the only place I knew, but I wasn’t happy. Then I met Sherlock, well, it just happened. We lived together, as flatmates. He was a detective. And I was his blogger. And maid, doctor, bodyguard, secretary..’ he shook his head, smiling at the past. ‘And then two months ago he threw himself off a bloody building.’ He said flatly. 

‘You were lovers?’ Khan enquired politely

‘Oh, no. I loved him, we loved each other but not like that. Maybe it would have, given time. More like brothers, I suppose. I used to say I wasn’t gay but...I would have done anything for that man.’

He shook his head as fresh tears threatened. Khan reasoned that time travel must have caused some sort of chemical imbalance in his brain, because he found himself reaching over the table and gently squeezing John’s hand. He smiled back apologetically.

‘Shall we go home?’ The blonde man desperately tried to steady his voice. ‘I mean, back to my house?’

Khan nodded silently, motioning for John to lead the way. The walked slowly through the streets, John chattered about the house, his landlady, getting some clean sheets. Khan watched John. He had now started actually carrying his crutch, and walked with almost no limp

‘Where were you shot?’

John stopped mid-babble. ‘Shoulder.’ He patted his right side.

‘Psychosomatic limp?’ Khan was nothing if not briskly efficient.

‘Er...yeah. Sherlock used to say that. It does come and go.’

‘Worse since he died?’

‘Yeah, a lot worse, and no, since you ask, it doesn’t bother me being reminded of it all the time.’ He said sarcastically.

‘My apologies.’

Khan couldn’t help but feel a little protective of the fragile man. That was what he did. He led people, he protected them. And yet with his new acquaintance, there was something else. He was certainly resilient. But warm as well. Comfortable, homely, even though he was a long way from anything resembling home for Khan.

They reached Baker Street, and John unlocked an unremarkable black front door. ‘Here we are then..’. He climbed the stairs wearily to the top flat. Closing the door behind them, Khan glanced around. Certainly, it was eclectic. A lot less sleek and sparse than his captain’s quarters on his ship. John began making tea, almost out of habit it would seem. Khan glanced around. There was a human skull on the mantelpiece. He did hope it wasn’t anyone John had actually murdered. Two chairs still faced each other, one with a blanket and dressing gown neatly folded on the seat, a deerstalker perched on top of the pile. It evidently had been left for a while. 

John came back carrying two steaming mugs. ‘Sorry it’s a bit of a mess, at least now its...sanitary’

He sat on the sofa, allowing Khan to take his chair. ‘So, where are your friends?’

‘A long way away.’ Khan said with a twitch of a smile. ‘I have no idea how I will find them again at present, but that is no reason not to try. Thank you for your hospitality, anyway.’

‘It’s fine.’ John actually smiled warmly at this, and Khan couldn’t help but smile a little himself. Every line of John’s face was illuminated by that smile. ‘I’m actually glad of the company, it’s so quiet here.’

‘Do you see anyone else?’

‘Not really, no, friends, our friends, come by sometimes. But they don’t know what to say, so they go quite quickly. I can understand that, I mean, I’m a miserable bastard these days, but I guess I just have to carry on.’ He shrugged, before his face crumpled and he finally burst into tears.

Khan never quite knew how to deal with this. Someone being shot, or threatened, he could deal with that. But he could not fight the spectre that hung so heavily over John. He got up from John’s chair, and came and sat gingerly next to him. He thought that this was probably the best course of action. He didn’t know much about John, but he didn’t think anyone deserved to be left alone in such misery. 

He stretched out an arm in invitation, placing his hand loosely between John’s shoulder blades. John stiffened at first, but then simply flopped into Khan’s chest, his fingers clasping the lapels of his coat as heavy sobs racked his body. He mumbled something along the lines of ‘I’m sorry, I just can’t’ before dissolving into incomprehensible sobbing. Khan got the distinct impression this was the first time John had truly and unashamedly cried for his friend. He wrapped his arms around John’s back, resting his chin on his sandy hair. It seemed the only thing he needed was comfort. He did not bother with the soothing nonsense as others may have, he just sat and held him.

After about ten or fifteen minutes, he seemed to calm. He took a deep breath and straightened his back, unable to meet Khan’s eyes. ‘I’m sorry. I have no idea why I did that. I’m obviously really intent on scaring you off.’

Khan just smiled and shook his head. His brain really was behaving in most peculiar ways. He found himself wanting to stroke the tears from John’s face. The curious intimacy of the moment was like nothing Khan had felt in well over a century, and it was somehow fogging his judgement. He found himself leaning forward and running a rough thumb over John’s cheek.

‘I am glad to be of service’ he said quietly, his bright blue eyes meeting John’s hazel ones


	4. Chapter 4

John found himself not just staring into the other man’s eyes, but being enthralled by them. Pulled into the depths of those icy blue lagoons. He could almost feel sand beneath his feet and hear the waves rustle peacefully along the beach. Khan’s hot breath ghosted over his face. It smelled of white bread, and something chemical, too, but not unpleasant. Then John's phone rang and the moment was gone. 

The doctor excused himself, got up and padded to the kitchen. He hung up after a few words to his sister, then washed his sticky face in the sink. By the time he had walked back into the living room, John had turned into his usual calm, slightly gruff self. Khan was inspecting the books on the shelves with his back to the kitchen, head cocked to read the spines. It was all John could do not to run away screaming. The resemblance to Sherlock was too strong to be healthy, and his nerves were already high-strung as it was. He put his phone down on the coffee table with a thump, making Khan – not jump, he noted, but turn around calmly and smile serenely. Now, a serene smile was _not_ something Sherlock could produce, John reassured himself. However, he was still shaken. And what was he thinking, letting a stranger into their - _his_ now - home like this?

That peculiar man walked towards John again, smiled and sat back down on the couch.

“I like your books,” he commented simply. John took his armchair this time.

“Thank you. Most of the- Thank you.” He decided he’d done enough snivelling for one day. “Look, I realize I've invited you, and I'm not saying I regret it or that you have to go… But… Just please, don’t touch anything?” He sounded pathetic and grumpy even to himself, but Khan was unfazed. He nodded once and took up his tea. A blissful smile formed on his delicate lips – unlike the watery rubbish they had gotten at the café, this was good, strong brew. John found himself staring again, so he got up and walked towards the stairs.

“What should I do in your absence?” he heard the other man inquire.

“I'm not going anywhere, just to prepare your room. Eh… You can read, I suppose? If that’s what you meant?” The doctor had turned back to the living room. Khan was still sitting in the same spot, completely motionless, only his eyes moving about as he was, once again, taking in his surroundings.

“What I meant, John,” he said, getting up and approaching, “Is that I could perhaps make dinner. Or… Clean something?” There was a questioning look on his face, directed more at himself than at John, it seemed, at those words. “To thank you for your hospitality,” he hastened to add, obviously noticing his new friend’s surprised look.

Apart from the completely ridiculous image of this warrior wearing an apron and holding a duster, nothing useful came to the doctor’s weary mind, so he just shook his head briskly and turned around to limp ever so pathetically upstairs. Once in the seclusion of… Sherlock’s (he needed to learn to say his name again) room, now stripped completely bare of all personal affects – not like he was using it much when he was alive, anyway – John sat down on the bed with a groan and tried to think. Which was somehow extremely difficult, when Khan’s beautiful and predatory facial features kept popping into his head.

There wasn't really a point in contemplating his decision, anyway, the deed was done and all he could do was hope that Khan wasn't going to murder him in his sleep. Or Mrs Hudson. Oh God, Mrs Hudson! She couldn't see the man – even with her diminishing eyesight, she would notice the resemblance, and probably freak out. Or have a break-down and cry. No, John couldn't have that on his conscience. He got up again, sighed for good measure and went to his own room to get sheets, a blanket and the extra pillow which wasn't doing anything on his bed, except annoy him when it fell on the floor and he tripped over it on his way to the bathroom.

He came back downstairs to behold a strange sight – the stray he had just taken in without a second thought was cooking dinner. The man wasn't wearing an apron or holding a duster, so the sight wasn't silly, but it _was_ unusual. John had usually been the one who cooked, or they would have take-out with Sherlock. Lately, he hadn't had the energy or appetite to cook for himself, so it was surprising to smell delicious food being prepared. _Today is definitely not an ordinary day,_ John thought as he creeped back into the living room and picked up his tepid tea. An hour later, dinner was ready.

John set the table and shut the drapes – it was still light out, but the overcast sky was depressing. And the little reading lamps around the apartment were much cosier. _For a dinner with a complete stranger,_ John thought sarcastically. Well, at least he could cook, because the food was fantastic.

“Where did you learn to cook like this?” John asked in wonder after he had filled up his plate a second time. He hadn't had much in the house, except some eggs and canned beans, but Khan had managed to cook a feast.

“Here and there,” the man answered evasively. “And it helped that your landlady – not housekeeper, she assured me – gave me some vegetables and bacon.” John nearly choked on his mouthful.

“My… Landlady? You saw Mrs Hudson?”

“Yes. She is lovely.” Khan smiled his beautiful smile again, visibly thawed after good food and company – maybe he had needed a friend just as much as John had… _No, focus!_

“Wh… What did she say?” 

“That I looked a lot like… Sherlock, was it? And that I was a 'nice boy' when I thanked her for the vegetables.” The tall man seemed to be weighing his words carefully. 

_Observant,_ John thought. Although it didn't take a Holmes to see what an indentation of pain and grief Sherlock’s passing had left on this house. John tried for a smile, and as watery and sad as it must have looked, it was reciprocated by Khan in full.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you'll enjoy this one, they're just so sweet together! :D

Most people are more content after having been fed. John was a different person after a hot meal, he had to admit. While getting back to his crew still niggled at the back of Khan’s mind, it had been a long time since he’s eaten real food. Longer still since he had cooked real food. And sitting down for a conversation with someone who was neither under his command nor an enemy, he really could not remember.

Dinner was a quiet yet pleasant affair. John asked about Khan’s friends and past, and while he did not want to lie to the man, Khan gave vague and non-committal answers. Feeling pleasantly full, he leaned back on his chair. 

‘Thanks for that, Khan, it was delicious. Been a while since anyone cooked anything around here, actually.’ He smiled

‘I am glad you enjoyed it. It has been a long time since I have cooked.’

‘Do your friends normally cook for you or do you have a wife..um..girlfriend? boyfriend?’

Khan chuckled softly at John’s fumbled words. ‘I had a wife once, a great beauty, but she died when we were both young. Yes, my friends usually provide sustenance for me.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t mean-‘

Khan held up his hand to stop John’s hurried apology ‘It was a long time ago and she is at peace. Forgive me, for being so direct, John. I do not often have cause to talk to anyone. Since then I have cared for my friends. I felt no need for anything more than my friends around me.’

‘Were you ever married, John?’

‘No, no.’ He shook his head with a slight smile. ‘Never met the right girl. It didn’t work out or Sherlock scared them off with his bloody great gob. No kids or anything.’

‘A shame. You would make a loyal companion, no doubt.’

John smiled ruefully as Khan realised what he had said. ‘Forgive me, I-‘

‘It’s fine, I’ll take it as a compliment.’ He left the table with what Khan could swear was a sly wink in his direction. Life in the old dog yet, he believed the phrase went.

He followed John, limping steadily, into the kitchen and began scraping plates into the bin and stacking them to be washed.

‘You really don’t have to.’ John insisted ‘Go and watch some telly if you like, I’ll be right in. Glass of wine or something?’ He moved to take the plates from Khan and place them in the sink. Khan moved towards the sink at the same time, effectively wedging them both in the narrow gap between the edge of the kitchen table and the sink.

‘Please, let me be of some assistance. You really have been so kind.’ He said softly, suddenly aware that he was belly to belly with the other man and both of them were a little slow at trying to move away. John slowly ran the tip of his tongue over his bottom lip. A perfectly natural nervous reaction in this situation, Khan thought to himself, were it not for the distinctly hungry look in John’s eyes.  
His heart suddenly beat a little harder in his chest. His mouth was suddenly dry. His hands experienced a sudden urge to drop the plates and pull John closer. ‘If you insist...’ John said, almost reluctantly, moving aside and making absolutely no effort to prevent his hip catching against Khan’s on his way past. 

Oh. Khan was hardly a blushing virgin, but it was fair to say thoughts like that did not cross his mind very often. They stood side by side against the sink, and Khan tried to push any thoughts about what might have happened if he had simultaneously broken john’s crockery and every social convention he was aware of about being a house guest to the back of his whirring mind.

They washed up together in companionable silence, only broken by the muted clink of plates among the bubbles. He pondered how they must look together, the small and greying soldier and the tall, dark warrior. But they wouldn’t be together long, he reminded himself. He would only impose on John as long as he absolutely had to. 

They finished up, John pouring them a glass of red wine each, and went back into the living room. They both headed for the sofa, sitting a respectful distance apart. 

‘Telly or would you rather just talk?’ John waved the remote at him

‘Whichever you would prefer, but television might be nice.’ 

He hadn’t watched television since long before he was frozen, but it might be nice to do something John felt normal. He switched on an old film, Indiana Jones as it turned out, and settled against the arm of the sofa. Khan took off his coat and settled back himself. He never really had reason to relax when on his ship, he was either leading his crew, eating or sleeping. Occasionally reading. Leisure time like this had always seemed so pointless. But he had to admit, it was nice to sip wine and not think about anything too much. John was only half watching the screen. Khan watched every stolen glance at his face with slight amusement.

As night fell, it began to grow cold in the flat. John had not lit the fire. John had edged a little closer to Khan, probably seeking nothing more than warmth, Khan guessed. As he drew close enough to touch, Khan raised his arm, inviting John into his chest. Before earlier today, he had almost forgotten how it felt to embrace. To feel another body, willingly against his own. He realised suddenly that John might take this the wrong way. Whatever the wrong way was. This must have shown at least a little on his face as John’s thin mouth twisted a little in amusement. He rested his head on Khan’s shoulder, and allowed a muscular arm to drape itself around his shivering back. They settled against each other, relishing the warmth and comfort. Khan traced the gentle ridges of muscle through his jumper. John was certainly stronger than he looked.

The film had long since finished, replaced by something vaguely dull on politics that neither had much interest in. Khan could feel John sliding against him sleepily. 

‘Please don’t stay up on my account, go to bed any time you wish. As pleasant as this is.’ He mumbled sleepily against John’s temple. 

‘No, this is fine.’ John twisted his head slightly to look at Khan, smiling reassuringly. Khan was suddenly aware of how close they were, as in the kitchen earlier. But this time it didn’t feel awkward or an imposition. He couldn’t put his finger on exactly what it was. Just warm. Comfortable. He found he had placed his other hand on John’s forearm, and John’s hand rested just above his knee.

He hadn’t noticed himself leaning closer until he felt John’s breath against his chin. He could smell alcohol and lingering tea. Oh. Somehow, he knew he wanted this, wanted to be closer now. He leaned in further and softly pressed his lips against John’s. John hesitated, but did not move away. After a few seconds, his heart almost burst with relief as John slowly kissed him back.

John was warm, and soft, and smelled slightly of sandalwood. His lips sought Khan’s more, caressing them, tasting them. Growing a little bolder. Khan purred, sucking John’s bottom lip between his own. A moan from somewhere deep in John’s chest spurred him to continue. His wide, strong hands had spread over John’s back, pressing them chest to chest. John’s hand slipped to the nape of Khan’s neck, imploring him not to leave. Khan’s hand on the small of his back, holding him close, assured him he would do no such thing.


	6. Chapter 6

As John’s movements grew more erratic and he moved up to seek more friction, Khan’s motions seemed to falter, then stopped completely. The doctor sensed discomfort and pulled away.

“Am I… Am I going to fast?” he felt mortification and guilt rising up from the pit of his stomach, but the taller man shook his head.

“No, absolutely not. I'm prepared to go as far as you want to,” he hastened to reassure, voice husky with lust and cold. Oh, that certainly did things to John’s nether regions! “However,” the warrior continued, “I just wanted to tell you that… I can be whoever you want me to be.” His gaze was grave and his hands a steady weight on John’s arms. It took Watson a moment to get the meaning behind his words, but then it clicked in his brain.

“No!” he almost shouted, then took a deep breath and repeated, softly, “No. That is not what this is, I promise.” He raised his hand to stop Khan from speaking again. “Let me… Look, I know I keep telling you that you look a lot like my dead friend. And that he only died 2 months ago, I'm grieving, denial, all that. I'm a doctor, Khan, I know how mourning works. I've lost friends before, too.” The other man stopped trying to intervene, so John slowed down and chose his words carefully. “But if you think you’re fulfilling some forbidden fantasy, then you couldn't be more wrong. Yes, you look like… Sherlock. But that’s not what I like about you. You’re a good man, Khan, and _that’s_ what I like.”

Khan decided to stop his rambling just then. “John. I am _not_ a good person, and you would be deluding yourself in thinking otherwise.”

The doctor let out a mirthless laughter. _God, when have I heard that before?_ he thought sarcastically, but kept that tidbit to himself. “You are, Khan. You care about and for your friends. You protect people. Whether or not you realise it, it’s entirely possible that guy would've shot someone earlier. And you stopped that from happening. And you really _are_ nice to be around,” he added solemnly. “Not to mention you’re muscled and firm. Very nice.” A small mischievous smile formed on his face as he prodded one of Khan’s pumped pectorals with an impatient finger.

His companion looked down at himself, and understanding dawned on his face. Right before a sultry smile stole John’s breath – and last bits of wit and control – away. But he still managed to frown.

“I mean it, you know. When I say it’s just you and me in this room, ‘just Khan’ and John. No ghosts. No memories. Yes?” He sounded sappy even to himself, but he felt a strong urge to reassure this odd fellow of his good intentions. Whether they were entirely altruistic – well…

Khan’s lustful mien turned into something warmer, and the doctor fancied he saw relief deep in the pools of his eyes. “Yes,” the familiar stranger replied. “I believe you.” And, almost reluctantly, “I trust you, John.” Hearing those words from someone whose occupation didn't allow the luxury of trusting anyone almost broke the blonde man’s heart. Before tears could well up in his eyes once again, he glued his lips to Khan’s once more, the other man mirroring his every movement. They made a great team, John pondered before his brain was overtaken by lust entirely.

After some playful pulling and pushing, Khan finally disconnected their lips and flipped John onto his back on the couch, landing softly on top of him and gladly resuming the kissage that was really, _really_ growing extremely sloppy. The shorter man giggled and held tighter onto the muscled back above him. He wouldn't say he felt young again, because that was a cliché even his current sentimentality didn't allow, but it was certainly pleasant to be wanted. And if the bulge in Khan’s leather(!) trousers, currently brushing John’s hip insistently, was anything to go by, he was _wanted_ indeed…

There was an almost animalistic quality to Khan’s foreplay, but he was ever thoughtful of not hurting John. So much, in fact, that a grumbled spur to “get on with it and move already!” was in order. The good doctor relished Khan’s smirk against his neck, hot breath in his ear sending shivers to various parts of his anatomy. Their cocks, still painfully contained in layers of fabric, had finally found much sought-after friction and the men were losing themselves in an accelerating rhythm. The tall man was growling, sweat-slicked forehead resting against John’s shoulder, hands squeezing his companion’s soft buttocks hard, and harder still, adding to the building pleasure in John’s gut until _too much, oh God, too much!_

It wasn't exactly that John minded horribly coming in his pants, however uncomfortable and sticky that would be, but the armrest of the couch was starting to give him a pain in the neck, and some pleasures deserved to be drawn out. And so it was with reluctance, and a great deal of regret that he put his hands on Khan’s shoulders and whispered for him to “stop, wait, Khan, stop!” Despite his arousal, the warrior was ever vigilant, and complied immediately. Panting and shuddering a little, he looked up at his friend to try and ascertain the reason for this cessation. His pupils were blown impossibly wide, black pools with thin blue rims around them, his mouth slack and his hair – finally! – undone. John almost forgot what he was going to say at that delectable sight.

“Eh… What was I-? Oh, right.” He smirked at Khan’s worried face. “How about we take this upstairs? Double beds being more comfortable than couches, and all that…” He was rewarded with a _very_ happy smile indeed, before Khan gave his neck a last nibble and got up, holding out his hand.

“Well?” he growled impatiently, looking down at John, who seemed in no hurry to get off the couch himself, rather preoccupied by admiring the tall man in all his glory.

“Yes, _alright,_ keep your panties on,” the doctor grumbled teasingly and let himself be pulled upright by surprisingly powerful hands. 

Khan had obviously miscalculated his own strength (not something that happened often), however, because John bumped into him – again – sending them both flying to the ground in surprise. The men proceeded to giggle for a good five minutes before John realised how silly the situation was and got up with some difficulty. Khan was still sniggering when they headed towards the stairs, slapping John’s arse playfully on their way up. John carped, but they both knew he didn't mean it. After all, what was good sex without some silliness?


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...things are getting pretty steamy! I havn't written M/M smut before (Miss_L is definitely the master) so I hope you enjoy this. Thanks for your continued Kudos and lovely comments, it means a lot to us :)

Walking across the landing, Khan could not help but peer through the open door to Sherlock’s room. Aside from the bed, which John had recently made, most of it was empty. Some books were stacked in boxes, and a few suits hung in garment bags, but the room had a cold, absent feeling to it. Besides anything else, sleeping with a man’s best friend in his bed shortly after his death was a little too uncomfortable, even for Khan. John glanced at it on his way past, but quickly moved on to his own room.

John’s bedroom was much like the man himself. Simple and clean, yet homely. A double bed was spread with a checked brown blanket, a green army beret hung on the bedpost. Shelves with a few books, a combination of paperback thrillers and tattered medical textbooks filled an alcove, a small but very well loved bear peered out from in amongst them. A childhood friend, no doubt. A laptop sat on the desk, a mug with a military crest on it, and a lamp. 

Perching on the edge of the bed, Khan suddenly did feel like a blushing virgin. He was fully aware of how ridiculous that was, but reigniting the hot-mouthed kisses of a few moments ago suddenly seemed something of a challenge. Uncertainty lodged itself somewhere beneath his breastbone, prickling at his heart. John’s kind words and reassurances were all very well, but he could not quite shake the feeling. If John knew half of what he had done, and fully realised that he was not Sherlock, would he still be perching next to him? 

He flexed his fingers nervously, splaying them wide and then balling them into fists. John gently caught one of his wrists, placing his palm against Khan’s. ‘You’ve got lovely hands. Soldier’s hands.’ His voice caught a little. The atmosphere still felt thick with uncertainty and unquiet thoughts. Khan only smiled. His hands were far larger than John’s, his finger tips resting against the second joint of each of Khan’s fingers. They had a warmth and a quiet to them though, a solid reassuring quality to every movement. Definitely a medic’s hands. 

John slowly raised the warrior’s hand to his lips, holding Khan’s gaze as he kissed a fingertip. Adoration and want mingled in his eyes. Arousal snaked from the pit of Khan’s stomach and up the column of his spine. His lips parted to draw another breath. John seized this opportunity to gently press his lips against Khan’s, his hands clasping his wrists. 

Khan simultaneously forgot a lot of things at this moment. The firm grip on his wrists and the gentle but insistent kiss blanked his mind. He sat, responding but allowing John to venture closer, deepening the kiss. Closer still losing himself in Khan’s mouth, until the fatal moment he let go of his wrists.

Khan sprang his trap, easily pushing John back onto the pillow, pinning his shoulders and straddling his hips. The blonde’s gasp of surprise was quickly consumed by a hungry mouth. Just as Khan wondered if perhaps he had gone too far, a hand slipped under the hem of his top and over his hip. The cool air and warm hand on his suddenly exposed flesh drew a moan from Khan. Obviously taking this as consent, John’s other hand fiddled with the hem before sliding his hand over the other hip, the black fabric riding up to expose a pale but muscular abdomen. A few naughty, teasing kisses behind John’s ear only encouraged him, his hands exploring the  
taught ridges of Khan’s back and shoulders. 

As Khan slid the garment impatiently over his head, John could not help but be mesmerised by his torso. Certainly, as an army doctor he had seen enough half-naked men to last him a lifetime. But Khan was something else. Perfectly pale, as if he had been sculpted yesterday. A powerful chest which heaved with his ragged breaths, his full parted lips, and his hair now thoroughly undone and tumbling about his forehead. And all his. John’s heart leapt into his mouth. 

‘God, you’re magnificent’ he mumbled, running the pads of his fingers over Khan’s abdomen. A delicious shiver ran through his back and legs, making him achingly hard.

Khan gently pulled John into a sitting position, suddenly craving the feeling of John’s skin against his own. He removed his jumper, nuzzling frantic kisses against his forehead, eyelids, cheeks and nose as he unbuttoned his shirt and slid it from his shoulders. As soon as it was on the floor, despite their awkward position, John slid his arms around Khan’s waist, burying his nose in his chest. The feel of warm skin and breath and sweat against him was a forgotten sensation for Khan. 

He clutched the smaller man close. He traced the faint tan lines and the slightly fluffy grey hairs at the nape of his neck, peppering tender kisses over his hair. His fingers met the stretched, knotted scar tissue at the front of his shoulder. As he sat back to look, John gently rolled him onto his side, laying back down to face him. Khan stretched out tentative fingers and ran them over the wound.

He almost expected John to flinch, through the scar was long-since healed. Instead he only sighed, closing his eyes, mumbling his approval at the gentle fingers, followed by a warm, slightly calloused palm on the sensitive skin. The muscle across John’s chest and shoulders had softened since he stopped chasing criminals, and he looked oddly vulnerable in the low light. Any image of innocence and vulnerability was slightly dented by his fingers steadily exploring the dark line of hair below Khan’s navel.

This stirred something in Khan, a dominant streak that had seen him fearlessly lead his crew to victory many times. ‘Lower’ he growled. The look of slight surprise at first was nothing compared to the quick and willing compliance that followed.

‘Bossy’ John chided gently, his fingers already straying to the bulge in his trousers.

‘This is nothing, I assure you.’ The deep murmur in John’s ear sent sparks down his spine as Khan claimed his mouth, the kiss further affirming exactly who was in charge. Somewhere in his mind, the question of whether John would rebel against or simply walk away from such dominance prickled uncomfortably. Khan was used to getting what he wanted, but then most people were more than willing to give it.

John’s melting submission under his mouth and hands blanked his mind altogether. He finally succeeded in undoing Khan’s trousers, pushing them impatiently aside. His other arm had somehow encircled Khan’s waist, pulling him closer as he pulled his thick cock free of his underwear.

Khan shuddered, the touch was almost too much, and a few slow pumps of John’s fist around his length had him biting his lip in both pleasure and anxiety. 

‘Please! Please stop, too much...’ he gasped against John’s ear.

‘You don’t strike me as the kind of man to beg.’ John purred in reply, a knowing smile playing on his lips.

‘I don’t beg.’ He said, a slight warning hanging in his words. ‘But you will if you continue.’ A raised eyebrow invited John to try.  
John’s heart nearly stopped, his usual smart comments dead on his lips. ‘Sorry..’

‘Better.’ He mused against his neck, undoing John’s belt and trousers and sliding them off. He nudged John aside to stand and remove his own trousers, impatient for skin against his own. John lay propped on his elbow, his hand straying to his own erection at the sight of Khan naked. He slid his own boxers down his legs and to the floor, and at the curious look in those glacial eyes, sat on the edge of the bed, grasping his cock again. 

‘Interesting.’ He said in that glorious rumble of a voice. ‘Perhaps I could help...’  
He knelt before John, his lips trailing from his knee up his thigh. His hand wrapped itself around John’s calf, the other resting on his hip. His kisses continues, taking in the crest of John’s hipbones, his belly, the inside of his thighs.

‘Christ, Khan...’

He took this as encouragement to continue, and ran the tip of his tongue over the drop of pre-come on the head of John’s cock. John’s eyes had closed, his fingers had snaked their way into Khan’s hair. His tongue continued, trailing slow, sloppy circles around the soft skin of the head before trailing down the shaft. A deep, pleading moan from John.

Smiling to himself, he took the shaft in his mouth, his fingers straying to caress John’s testicles. Sucking softly at first, he slowly moved his head down, evoking a soft whimper. Emboldened, he continued a little faster, stopping after a few moments.

‘Please, Khan, please...’ his fingers tugged desperately at his hair ‘I need...’

Khan smiled, giving a slow lick from the base of John’s cock up to his belly button.

‘I told you I would make you beg...’


	8. Chapter 8

That would do. John’s inner rebel came back to life and his tattered pride raised its head. He knew he was no match for Khan physically, but he had seen the unadulterated want and longing for contact in the man’s eyes. Moreover, he didn't believe Khan would actually hurt him. He pushed the warrior away softly and got up, hard and proud. 

Khan sunk back on his haunches and eyed John warily from under his eyelashes. “Where are you going?”

“To get lubricant and condoms. Unless you have a better idea?” There was a challenge in his voice, and Khan had heard it, because the muscles of his handsome face tensed just enough to make him look aroused _and_ menacing. But John was _not_ a pushover. And perhaps there was some unhealthy death-wish in the works, too, he mused on his way to the bathroom. Why else would he challenge a weathered soldier, who could snap his neck as readily as he would shag his brains out?

When John came back into his room, Khan was still sitting in the same spot on the floor, a rigid angle to his shoulders and neck. Even without seeing his face, the doctor could guess that the expression on it would be icy and dangerous. He contemplated apologising for his “insolence”, but suddenly, one of Sherlock’s first text messages appeared before his mind’s eye. “Could be dangerous.” And there he was. Yes, he was definitely wrong in the head. So he circled the unmoving form in the middle of his bedroom and sat back down on the bed, depositing his haul on the night-stand. Khan finally looked up at him.

“Am I allowed to touch you… Sir?” The tall man’s voice was quiet, but the menace was so tangible, a lesser man than Captain John Watson, formerly of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers, would probably have ran away in panic. But John just nodded, maintaining eye-contact and trying to keep his expression as far away from “smug” as possible.

Khan made no attempt to actually interact in any way, however. Instead, he got up and sat on the far end of the bed. He looked straight in front of him in a brooding fashion – a long way away from one of Sherlock’s childish “sulks”. John felt his indignation dissipate. Because the anger he saw was just a shell, an armour, if you will. He knew what it was like to close yourself off from others for fear of being hurt (again). And for someone like Khan, insubordination could be fatal – a general (and Khan was one, there was no doubt about that) can only ensure the safety of his men when each and every one of them follows his orders to the letter. It’s difficult to just switch off that persona, too.

“Khan…” His voice was soft, almost pleading, but the other man ignored him. John scooted over, sheets catching in places and making progress somewhat difficult. He put his hand on Khan’s shoulder, but the tall man shook it off and made to get up, never looking at John. The doctor caught his hand and pulled him back down softly. Khan finally looked at his new friend, anger flaring up in those beautiful eyes.

“Perhaps,” he boomed slowly, “This wasn't a good idea after all.”

John was unfazed. “Why? Because we’re both soldiers and wouldn't give up a position of power if our life depended on it?” Khan looked surprised. A small crack in his exterior shell, closed again at the blink of an eye.

“No.” His voice sunk down to a loud whisper. “Because you don’t know _anything_ about me, John.”

“Nor you about me. And yet here we are-”

“No!” It wasn't quite a shout, but John felt the sound reverberate in his bones. “I've killed people, John." The way Khan kept repeating his name didn't bode well. The soldier-slash-doctor sighed and shifted his hand on the other man’s wrist. No reaction.

“Look, Khan, we've both killed people in combat, it’s nothing to be-”

“Not in combat.” This time, it seemed, Khan was quite set on scaring _him_ away. _Not a technique that will work on m-_ “I am talking about cold-blooded murder, John. Do you understand?" His gaze was grave and piercing, and sincere. John finally let go of his hand, but before Khan could get up again, or even walk away, the doctor put his arm around the warrior’s buff shoulders and pulled ever so slightly. 

He knew he had won when Khan’s shoulder relaxed incrementally and he leaned against John’s soft and warm frame. They both still had a long way to go, but for now, it was a big step.

“I am certain you had your reasons,” John whispered against a dark head and kissed Khan’s temple. Even for him, this level of tenderness was uncharacteristic, but the other man melted further against him, so he must have been doing something right. 

If he was honest with himself, Khan didn't strike him as the kind of man who would feel guilty about taking a life. However, neither did he seem like the kind to take said life lightly, or, indeed, without a very good reason. Perhaps it was his own moral compass speaking (somewhat shifted during his time with Sherlock, but never completely forgotten), but he could not imagine a man who cared such a great deal about his unit to be a bad person. Or maybe it was the pheromones. Either way, having Khan’s hot (literally and figuratively) body against his again felt… Marvellous. And the other man must have felt it, too, because he wrapped his arms around John’s torso and put his leg possessively over the doctor’s lap before he proceeded to kiss the shorter man silly. 

Despite the constant emotional roller-coaster, they still wanted to do this; both felt the need to connect with another human being. Even if it was just for one night. John tried not to think about tomorrow as he snaked his tongue between powerful jaws and squeezed Khan’s perfectly round and muscled buttock. For now, it was just the two of them, connecting in the best of ways.


	9. Chapter 9

Putting his past misdeeds out of his mind did not come easily to Khan. He was used to being a leader, a solid point to lean on, a beacon in the dark for others. Quiet brooding when he was alone suited him just fine. So the spilled confession, one solider to another had surprised him somewhat. But this man, this warm and quiet presence who was clearly more concerned with preserving life than taking it, seemed to understand. Casualties in battle were inevitable, and Khan would still not hesitate to end a life for the safety of his crew. Had John killed to protect his friends? To protect Sherlock? Perhaps they were more similar than he had first imagined.  
Hot kisses on his neck and jaw and John’s pliant body beneath him were a very welcome distraction. Urging John to shuffle back onto the pillows, he pulled the blanket around his shoulders, cocooning them both against the evening chill. At his behest, John tilted back his chin, grumbling softly at Khan’s lips in the hollow of his neck, his tongue tracing the dip of his collar bone. The strong arc of his thumb and index finger grasped possessively above his hipbone. John arched his back in response, twining his leg around Khan’s, anything to maintain the teasing friction of his cock against Khan’s hip.

‘God....please...’ he murmured desperately into Khan’s ear. Khan raised himself slightly to look at John, feigning innocence.

‘Please what?’

Khan had expected him to be shy, which heightened the thrill that shot through his stomach as John looked him dead in the eye. ‘I want your mouth on my cock,   
Khan.’

Khan thought about resisting, but somehow, the fight had gone from him. He certainly took his time tracing his tongue and fingers over John’s chest, nipping softly at a nipple before soothing it with a slow lick. He nuzzled against his ribs, breathing in John’s scent before continuing down, trailing kisses over his belly and hip. 

Brushing his lips over the head of his cock produced curious noises from John, his fingers twisting into the sheet. Glancing up at him, he smiled at how gloriously debauched John looked, his back arched, his chest heaving with unsteady breaths, eyes closed, lips parted and a sheen of sweat on his brow. He lowered his head again, turning his attention to the base of John’s cock, kissing and nuzzling before licking right from the base to the tip. John’s fingers had found their way into his hair, and Khan was rewarded with a delicious, almost electric sensation over his scalp and down his spine.

Khan slowly took his length in his mouth, sucking gently, grasping John’s clenched buttock as he slowly moved his head. As he began to move in a steady rhythm, John’s fingers tangled themselves further in, his breathless attempts to be quiet dissolving into full-throated moans. This only encouraged Khan, taking more into his mouth and bringing his fingers around to stroke further between John’s thighs, finding a tender spot behind his testicles and teasing it mercilessly with his fingertips, until John pulled him away by his hair. ‘No...not...yet’ he gasped. 

Khan returned to lie next to him, smiling. ‘Too much?’ he enquired politely. John gave him a look ‘You knew exactly what you were doing, you smooth git.’ Khan’s eyebrows raised ‘Do I detect a note of insubordination there, Captain?’

Despite all the previous wrestling for power, Khan somehow couldn’t help it. And the flash of want in John’s eyes confirmed everything he had hoped for.

‘Maybe..’ he murmured daringly ‘What are you going to do about it...general?’

‘Commander.’ Khan corrected him

‘Oh...Commander. Sir. I’m so very sorry...’ he purred against Khan’s ear. He was definitely the most senior, not to mention beautiful, officer he had come across.

‘I do believe you could remedy the situation, should you so desire.’

‘I think I understand..’ he trailed off, wrapping his hand around Khan’s cock, sounding so very innocent Khan almost growled at the movements of his hand.

‘I did not mean to offend, Sir.’ He continued, sucking softly at a tender spot on Khan’s neck, drawing a soft moan from those beautiful lips.

‘I’m sure I could make it right again, if Sir would let me.’

He moved to Khan’s achingly hard cock, dropping the occasional kiss but not wanting to keep him waiting. His lips kissed and teased, sloppy and so very willing, before Khan was gasping at his mouth greedily sucking his cock, his hand snaked possessively around his thigh. He ran his fingers through his short, sandy hair, not much to grip but John softly moaned his approval all the same.

More, sucking harder, moving faster, John’s hand crept further, grasping Khan’s muscular buttock. He groaned, gripping John’s shoulder. John’s fingertips trailed along the base of Khan’s spine, tickling and teasing lower until the tip of his finger was teasing his puckered hole. 

Khan pushed John away hastily. ‘Not good?’ John glances up, concerned.

‘No, no...too good..’ Khan catches his breath.

‘More, sir?’ John shuffled up to him again, that naughty little mouth trailing further kisses over his neck, his fingers continuing to tease his arse.

‘Oh yes...’ he breathed.

John smiled knowingly and left for a second, returning with condoms and a small container of lube. 

‘For later.’ He said huskily in Khan’s ear ‘Whatever would please Sir.’

He applied a small amount of lube to his finger and gently smoothed it around the entrance before sliding the digit in slowly. Khan pulled John closer to allow further access, sliding his arm around his waist, his face buried in his neck and that glorious smell, warm wood and soap and tea and John.

He gasped as John steadily withdrew his finger, a small whine of protest escaped his lips, cut short by a murmur of satisfaction as he thrust it back in.

‘Plaese, more....’

‘Sir shouldn’t have to beg.’

John slipped in another finger, pressing gently forward until he brushed the tender spot of Khan’s prostate. He bit hard into John’s shoulder, John cried out but persisted, the combination of pain, Khan’s rumbling voice and the other man’s cock pressed to close to his pushing him toward the edge.

‘I need...I want...’

‘What, Sir?’ he purred ‘What does sir want?’

‘Fuck me, John’ he gasped, he could hear the desperation in his own voice and somehow he didn’t care. He was already utterly undone by John’s fingers and tongue. So much power, grace, and intelligence, a pinnacle of genetic perfection and brought back to the simple wants, simple needs, of other mere mortals. If it felt like this, Khan mused to himself, he could tolerate it.

John knelt between his thighs, a condom in his hand. ‘You’re sure?’

‘Yes, yes, just...please...’ Khan muttered impatiently

John rolled it on, and pressed himself against the tight hole, pressing in agonisingly slowly. Khan breathed deeply through the incredible pressure, and gave a low moan as he was fully impaled. Both stilled for a moment, adjusting, calming themselves, before John slowly moved again, withdrawing almost completely before pressing back in, harder this time.

Khan groaned, guttural and animal, for more. John grasped his hips, greedy and dizzy with lust, a few sharp thrusts that nearly finished him before finding a rhythm and that sweet spot of Khan’s prostate. Fucking him not too fast, but hard and insistent. The commander found his legs twisting around John’s back, his heels digging in. He also found his hand reaching almost unbidden for his own cock and grasping hard, the last rags of control falling away from him as he mumbled ecstatic curses and John’s name. 

‘God, Khan...’ John gasped ‘I can’t...’

A ragged, choked cry that must have come from John, although Khan was unable to tell at this point, preceded the hot rush of semen inside him. The feeling of being so complete, so full, was enough to push him over the edge, sinking into sweet, shattered oblivion.

As they lay together, sticky, sweaty and spent, Khan realised this may be the first time he had fallen asleep in anyone’s arms. The slowing, hypnotic thud of John’s heart was drug-like, lulling him into a peaceful and dreamless rest. Somewhere in his addled state, Khan hoped he didn't have to leave this too soon.


	10. Chapter 10

John woke up slowly, a warm, languid feeling around his chest making him reluctant to open his eyes. Until he realised that the heat came from an arm slung possessively around his middle. Warm breath tickled against his neck. He opened his eyes to look down at his companion, memories of last night still incomplete, and his heart almost stopped when he saw his best friend curled around him. 

_No! Khan, not Sherlock._ Luckily, his brain finally came online. He must have moved about too suddenly, however, because two very blue eyes were blinking up at him owlishly. Then the man smiled and pulled John closer. The doctor wondered idly when the last time was that Khan had actually been able to unwind completely and allow himself to be off his guard around another person. The man’s – commander, no less! – trust in him made John irrationally proud. 

He looked at his phone, which he didn't even remember taking with him upstairs. 10 am, time to rise and shine. Or whatever. John felt Khan shift and relax his grip, breathing slowing down again. As soon as he was certain the dark-haired vision was fast asleep again, the doctor got up and headed into the shower. Once clean, shaven and no longer smelling of semen and sweat, John laid out a clean towel and flannel for his guest and headed downstairs in his dressing gown to make tea. He was half-way through the morning paper before his stomach decided to remind him that it existed and needed to be fed. 

John had just deposited the perfectly-fried eggs on a large plate when Khan came into the kitchen, dressed and smelling clean and warm. He was perfectly composed, save for his wet hair, and it was difficult to unite his crisp appearance with last night’s debauchery (burned onto John’s retinas in the best of ways). However, there was still this relaxation to his shoulders and an almost care-free smile on his face which put a little sliver of hope into the doctor’s broken heart. He didn't want to feel that hope, not after having his life ripped away from him violently, more than once… But there it was. And the day seemed a little brighter for it.

Khan took out the plates and cutlery the doctor had set out into the living room and set the table. John brought in the breakfast and put the tray gingerly between the dishes. He noticed that, despite his unguardedness, his guest seemed diffident, as if he wasn't sure how to behave around his host. John couldn't blame him – he wasn't entirely certain where they stood himself. So he smiled and gestured for Khan to join him at the breakfast table. The silence between them was only a little strained, stolen glances crossing until both men decided that it was time to stop being silly and start talking. 

They were still deep in conversation over their long since empty plates when Mrs Hudson knocked on the open door with her usual “Hoo-hoo!”. The men looked up when she came in, Khan even got up and inclined his head ever so slightly. John could only marvel at his upbringing. 

“Oh, don’t get up on my account, ehm… Khan.” She seemed a little flustered at his show of reverence, but also very pleased. The guest smiled and sat back down.

“John,” Mrs Hudson continued, face dropping and voice hushing, “Mycroft is here, and he’s asked if you would see him.” What she really meant, John knew, was that Mycroft had barged through the front door as if he owned the place, only to be stopped and berated by the landlady. He was made to stand in the hall (because sitting in her parlour was only reserved for people who didn't let their little brother jump off a roof) while she went upstairs – no doubt taking her time as she did so – and asked John whether he wanted to see the unbearably superior and snide git. 

They both knew that he didn't, especially not with his guest sitting right there, but before John could formulate an appropriate answer for Mrs Hudson to convey (omitting most of the insults that were lining up in his brain to be thrown in Mycroft’s direction), the man himself was coming up the stairs, trusty umbrella ticking louder with every approaching step. The elderly lady turned towards him with an indignant expression, but before she could tell – now the only – Mr Holmes exactly where he could go, John got up and put a hand on her arm. His jaw was set and a muscle in his eyelid was twitching, but he looked calm enough, so Mrs Hudson nodded, pushed past the unwanted guest and went downstairs, heels of her shoes landing a little too loudly on the wood. 

Khan had sensed the tension immediately. John had felt, more than seen, the man’s entire body tense up in alert, ready to strike at anyone who dared hurt his host. The doctor addressed him now, ostentatiously ignoring the – granted, quite impressive – man in the three-piece-suit who was standing squarely in the middle of the room.

“Khan, you might want to go upstairs or for a walk.” His tone wasn't demanding, but there was a hardness that didn't allow contradiction. Obliging on an almost unconscious level, the warrior got up slowly and headed towards the door, never taking his eyes off Mycroft. John couldn't see his friend’s face, but he imagined the expression would be terrifying to behold. Kudos to Mycroft for not even flinching then. Instead, the elder Holmes was observing the taller man, eyes taking him in rapidly. His own mien was quite unreadable.

He stopped Khan with his umbrella when the man was almost at the door.

“Actually,” Mycroft finally spoke drily, “I'm here for him.” He finally faltered under the intense stare in those blue eyes, and took his brolly off Khan’s chest. The warrior turned towards John with a questioning cock to his eyebrow. _So obedient,_ some dark, kinky recess of the doctor’s mind supplied before he snapped to assessing the situation. Mycroft was obviously serious about creepering on Khan, and he knew it would be safer for the man (and, if he had gathered anything about Khan, safer for Mycroft, too - not that he cared that much about the smug arsehole) if John was present at the… Interrogation. Yes, knowing Mycroft Holmes, this unexpected visit would turn out to be exactly that. 

John nodded at Khan and offered late Sherlock’s brother to sit in his chair. He sat next to Khan on the couch, closer than strictly necessary, but he would be damned if he let those two out of his sight for even a moment. Mycroft stared both men opposite him down for a minute, then spoke.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did do some research on Khan's backstory, and while it's kind of confusing, I think what's here is largely accurate, give or take a couple of dates. Hope you enjoy, and thank you for your kind reviews and comments :)

Khan sat, his spine ramrod straight and his chin high, next to John. He was definitely not going to give this slimy offering the satisfaction of his submission or his aggression. John certainly seemed to know the man, but he may as well have been growling, hackles raised, for all the warmth he showed him. 

‘So’ The man cleared his throat and put his umbrella down. ‘I’m sure you’re aware why I’m here, Dr. Watson.’

‘John, please, Mycroft.’ He seemed vaguely irritated at this, the use of his proper title sounded like an insult.

‘Fine.’ He said, pursing his lips.

‘Who is your friend, anyway, John?’ He said, the syrupy false sweetness cloying on Khan’s tongue.

‘Khan.’ He said, in a dangerous little voice. ‘And while he’s my friend, Mycroft, he’s also none of your business.’

‘Come now John, you understand that after what happened to my dear late brother I only wish to keep you safe.’

‘Actually, after what happened to Sherlock, I’m wondering why you’re here. He’s dead, Mycroft. I felt his pulse, I saw...I saw everything. Nobody could survive that head injury. So why am I and what I do of any concern to you?’

Oh. Oh. Brother to the much missed Sherlock then. Still, even in Khan’s brilliant mind, he could not fathom why he would be here. Unless it was nothing to do with John. 

‘I am only here because I care John...’ He said it as if to a child about to throw a tantrum

‘Bollocks.’ John said flatly, crossing his arms.

Mycroft raised an eyebrow but did not respond. This was a man used to being unwelcome. He slid his eyes over Khan, and they hesitated on his face. No doubt, he was about to comment on his resemblance to his brother.

‘Anyway John, what can you tell me about your friend here?’

‘His name is Khan. What else do you need to know?’ her replied tersely

‘Well, perhaps you should be more careful about what company you keep. As officially, this man does not exist. He has no passport, no national insurance number, no surname, in fact he was, officially at least, never born.’

Whatever Khan himself thought, he kept his face perfectly placid and neutral. He did have to wonder, somewhere deep in his brain, what he was going to do when his true identity was revealed. He was more than a match for Mycroft Holmes, but the entirety of her majesties’ forces may be another thing entirely. He may be genetically superior, but without his crew or any technology from his era, he could easily be overcome by sheer numbers. Khan felt John’s shoulders tense next to him, torn between hating Mycroft and questioning his newfound friend. Hating Mycroft won, just.

‘I would ask what that has to do with you, but I’m sure you’re going to tell me anyway...’ John said dryly, his face daring Mycroft to continue.

‘Quite. You see, I can’t simply allow an anomaly such as Mr. Khan here to wander the streets. We have no idea of his history or what he’s capable of. The Border Agency will have my head on a platter if I-‘

‘Yeah, I can see that being a problem after all the highly illegal stuff you allowed your brother to get away with right under your nose.’

‘That was different, John, and you know it.’ He said, quietly but starting to grind his teeth a little.

John sighed, starting to tire of this already. ‘What is it you want, Mycroft?’

‘I want your new friend here to tell me exactly where he’s come from.’

All eyes in the room strayed to Khan. He eyed Mycroft with a slightly smug smile before speaking. ‘Well, then, Mr. Holmes, I will tell you. Whether both of you believe me, I shall leave to you. I was never officially born, as you say. I was genetically engineered to be a new breed of human, enhanced in every aspect. I was born to a surrogate in a laboratory, I believe I will come into existence within the next five years. My kind were bred to seek peace and bring an end to the war and pestilence which plagued mankind. I am stronger, more agile, and more resistant to disease than any human yet born. The genetic material used to create me was taken from North Indian subjects, and I was given the full name Khan Noonien Singh’

‘Wait a minute...’ John closed his eyes, pursing his lips and trying to make sure what he said, what he had just heard, didn’t sound as bonkers as he had initially thought. ‘You said you will come into existence in the next five years. You’re not born yet?’

‘Technically, no. I have travelled from a point approximately five hundred years in the future. I was involved in a war, known as the Eugenics Wars, which will happen during the next century. Most of my kind were destroyed, only myself and 72 others survived, we escaped on a ship in cryogenic suspension. I alone was revived by Star Fleet, who led me into making weapons for them with the belief that my crew would be killed if I did not comply.’ Khan felt his jaw clench, tears forming in his eyes at the memory. Neither John nor Mycroft interrupted. Mycroft’s face was veiled, evidently he had had a lot of practice containing his emotions. John stared in rapt fascination, as though, however fantastical it sounded, he wished it were true.

‘I could not abandon my family, but I made Star Fleet pay dearly for their crimes. Many people died. I was captured, and they intended to place me in suspension again. I managed to escape, and I knew that the only way I could ever have any hope of rejoining my crew and escaping being murdered by Star Fleet, was to travel back in time to the point where we first left earth. Unfortunatley, Star Fleet’s technology was a little more primitive than I had anticipated, and I am now stranded a century before the event.’

‘So you’re an alien?’ John asked, one eyebrow raised. 

‘No. I am a hybrid of your species. I was born on earth. ‘

‘Where does the Commander part come in?’

‘I was promoted to commander by Star Fleet, and I was made the leader of my kind by my creators. I was Captain of my own ship, and thus, commander.’ He says coolly

‘The real question is, Mr. Singh-‘

‘Khan, please.’ He interjected, gritting his teeth

‘My appologies, Khan. The question remains: What are your intentions and what are you planning to do now?’ Mycroft said this with the calm air of someone who may just believe Khan. Curious.

‘My intentions are to reunite with my crew, if at all possible. As the technology does not seem to be anywhere near my requirements, I may simply have to continue to live until my crew are created. My lifespan is unknown, although it is believed that I may live up to a millennia. I have lived two hundred years exclusive of the time spent in cryogenic suspension.’

‘And what will you do, if you must ‘continue to live’, Mr. Khan?’

‘Continue the purpose for which I was bred: to alleviate war and suffering among human kind’

‘A noble cause, I’m sure.’ Mycroft said with a sickly smile ‘But how do your intentions relate to Dr. Watson?’

‘I do not know, we met yesterday.’ At this remark, Khan’s hand stretched defensively to John’s. He half expected him to withdraw his, having found out the truth. But his fingers clenched, warm and strong, around his hand. John was used to deferring to Sherlock’s pinpoint deductions for guidance, but something deep in his gut told him to trust Khan. Whatever it was, it had not steered him wrong in trusting Sherlock.

Mycroft noticed, shooting them a look like a pair of snogging teenagers. ‘I see. Well, John, you certainly have a type.’ He commented, running his eyes again over Khan’s milky features and bottomless blue eyes.

‘Me and Sherlock wern’t together!’ But seeing the look on Mycroft’s face he gave up.

‘Look, we’re just friends. I honestly didn’t know he was a time-travelling spaceman when we met. So what are you going to do? Arrest him?’

‘This is something of an unprecedented case.’ Mycroft sighed. ‘And were my brother alive, which he isn’t’ he clarified quickly ‘I don’t know what he would make of this. However, I cannot have him arrested for something he hasn’t done yet, and I have no idea where I would deport him since he doesn’t have a home. What on earth would I say in court? So you see my predicament...’

He could feel John holding his breath next to him. Somewhere in a darker part of his mind, he had to wonder if John’s sudden, unquestioning loyalty to someone who may or may not be a mass murderer was what had made him a good soldier. It did make him incredibly vulnerable.

Mycroft sighed deeply. ‘You will appreciate, both of you, my situation. I have no choice but to let Mr. Khan remain where he is. It will also help me avoid awkward questions about how he found his way here in the first place. I must impress on both of you that Mr. Khan will be under constant surveillance. I can’t risk letting him out of my sight. Whether his story is true is irrelevant, he is an unknown, and thus, a threat’

John rolls his eyes, but stays quiet, still clasping Khan’s hand like he might disappear. Mycroft stands and addresses Khan directly. ‘Mr. Khan, I do not know, currently, whether to trust you or not. But I suppose I must. Please look after Dr. Watson, I fear he still needs it after my brother’s passing. If you harm him, I assure you whatever your capabilities, I will be watching.’

With a nod to both of them and a twirl of his umbrella, he left. John continued to stare into space, a little lost for words. After a few minutes, he licked his lips and spoke.

‘Did you mean that?’

‘Yes.’

‘All of it?’

‘Yes.’

‘I see.’


	12. Chapter 12

John noticed that his throat had gone bone-dry and gulped, almost choking on the upcoming saliva. He let go of Khan’s hand as he doubled over in a coughing fit. He hadn't noticed when his friend had got up, but suddenly the man was standing in front of him, holding out a glass of water. The teary-eyed doctor gulped down half of it, almost choking again. By the time he had finally caught his breath, Khan was already sitting down in the maroon chair, facial expression unfathomable.

“Tell me,” he began quietly, gazing into distance, “this Mycroft Holmes, who is he?”

“According to She- Basically, he is the British Government. Operating behind the scenes, major powerplay, all that.”

“Yes, I rather thought he might be.” Khan’s eyes focussed on his companion’s face, but his smile didn't reach his eyes. “A dangerous man.”

John finally caught on. Of course, Mycroft Holmes’ powers of deduction exceeded even Sherlock’s, but nobody in their right mind would believe a story like that… Unless they were part of the planning for such a project. But, being John Watson, he still needed confirmation by stating the obvious.

“He’s in on it?” The expected berating didn't come, instead the hybrid – _woah, weird to call him that!_ – shifted in his seat, no doubt contemplating how much to tell. In the end, he sighed in resignation.

“Mycroft Holmes is the brains of the operation. The project is not entirely his own making, genetic engineering as such started in the 70’s, but he has definitely helped bringing it to a next level. Human level. And as you have probably already guessed from knowing this man, he does not allow half-measures. Within five years, maybe sooner, a breed of super-humans will be born, with me among them.” His gaze had drifted off again, resting unseeing on the skull-painting. John could only imagine how difficult it was for Khan. For all his super-duper-powers, he was still more than part human, and knowing what was going to happen to a lot of his kin… “However, all of this is irrelevant to you, John.” He still studied the picture, but the doctor could sense the man’s (no doubt superior) peripheral vision capturing his every breath.

John’s chest deflated, but he put on a brave front just because. “How’s that, then?”

Khan was not fooled, but he was amused. “Well, if Mycroft Holmes is interested in my whereabouts, so will others. I may not be born yet, but I can still die. Albeit with great difficulty. Dead or alive, I am a liability in no doubt more ways than one, and I do not wish any harm to come to you because of me.”

This confession sparked off an unpleasant nagging at the back of John’s mind, like there was something he had forgotten and wanted desperately to remember. He pushed it away for now and jutted his chin out challengingly. 

“I'm not particularly interested in my own safety, as that twat of a Mycroft could no doubt tell you. Neither is he, not really. So-”

“But I am,” Khan interrupted quietly. His eyes finally rested heavily on John’s shoulders, even the bright irises dimmed somewhat by his earnest. “And no matter what I do, how much I try and fit in, I will always be different. Dangerous. The Big Bad Wolf.” He raised his hand to stop John from talking. Grudgingly, the doctor shut his mouth with a clack of teeth. “I know you like to believe I am good, decent, caring. For whatever reason, although I would assume you’re simply trying to justify what happened last night to yourself.” John knew he was saying this to make him push the dark man away, beyond the borders of his own safety, but it still stung. Exactly like it was supposed to. His guest got up, face an unreadable stony mask.

“Now,” he announced a little too cheerfully. “I should be going.”

John got up as well, blocking the path to the door almost as an afterthought. He shook his head as Khan made to push past him. “Khan, please. I don’t want you to go, and, despite what you've just said, I think neither do you.” His new friend towered above him, placid expression slowly morphing into something much more menacing.

“John. Move out of my way, or I will hurt you. As we both know, that is not a problem for me.”

The doctor stood his ground, despite dread pooling in the pit of his stomach. “So what… Yesterday was just that? A one-night-stand? Nothing more?” Khan didn't answer. “Look me in the eye, Khan, and tell me that it didn't mean anything. Say it and-”

“It was pleasant, last night, but nothing more. I hope you've enjoyed it as much as I have. I'm sorry if you got the wrong idea, but it was never going to last. You knew that.” His response was… Perfect. Sincerity in the right parts of the sentences, contrived guilt in others. And his face had done the “I'm telling the truth, and I'm so sorry it hurts, you poor deluded bastard”-thing. And yet, the other man felt his resolve falter. Maybe… Maybe Khan wasn't playing at being coy or saying whatever John needed to hear to let him leave. Maybe he was saying what he meant and this was his way of letting people down kindly. Well, “honestly”, at least.

Khan must have noted the momentarily confusion on John’s weary face, because his huge hand landed on the doctor’s shoulder briefly, then pushed the man himself out of the way. John watched Khan walk out of the flat, new grief already forming in his heart. He hated himself for that. And for missing that heavy, reassuring hand on his shoulder. On his hand, on his chest, on his hip. Just… There. Comforting. Solid.

Gone.


	13. Chapter 13

Khan did not look back. He calculated the amount of force needed to push John aside, thinking grimly that even if he wanted to, the doctor could not stop him leaving. He moved quickly down the stairs, extending only a nod in farewell to Mrs. Hudson before clicking the outside door shut behind him. The sun was bright and high, it must be nearing midday, although it was still cold enough for his breath to condense in a mist from his flared nostrils.

Unfortunatley for Khan, people whom he developed any form of attachment to had a tendency to meet their untimely end. Most of his kind, his family, his wife, had died under his leadership. And the remainder he had abandoned in his arrogance. It was not too late to leave John. He was already mourning for his friend, and on reflection Khan should have stayed well away. But even with the situation as it was, they owed each other nothing. John would recover and find someone worthy of his time and affections.

As for what Khan was going to do, that was another question. Finding shelter, work, and food did not trouble him. The only thing that did trouble him was the gnawing in the back of his mind and the pit of his stomach, something which felt distinctly like guilt.

He swept into a cafe at the end of the road and ordered strong black coffee, no sugar. If he had to wound John by leaving after their ‘one night stand’ (he had always hated that term), he could at least repay him a little by ensuring his safety. If this...this Mycroft knew Khan’s potential and whereabouts, there was a degree of certainty that other, less savoury characters did as well. He was not exactly difficult to spot. He settled into a window seat, removing his coat and trying to look as inconspicuous as possible.

This was put out of his mind by two men, walking with distinct purpose down the road. Fitted leather jackets, dark jeans, sunglasses, and earpieces on both. One wore a white shirt, the other charcoal grey. Both were mid-height, stocky and muscular. A touch predictable, even Khan had to admit. Someone really had decided to   
send the boys round. Whoever it was had woefully underestimated Khan.

He could still, however, leave. Once the men had found John had no knowledge of Khan’s whereabouts, they would doubtless leave John alone, giving Khan a head start. Perhaps. A rational part of his brain reminded him that he had no idea whether they were armed or not. Or what their intentions were. And then the irritating spike of his conscience reminding him of the further, entirely innocent blood he would have on his hands. All John had done was take him in, no questions asked.

Leaving his cup untouched, he allowed them to walk the length of the road and reach 221b before he began to follow. Intercepting them only to find they were nothing to do with him or John could be disastrous, and would not be particularly helpful in maintaining a low profile. 

Mrs. Hudson opened the door, smiling in polite confusion for a second before a strong arm around her slight waist bundled her inside. Too late to get in behind them, Khan paused as the door clicked shut. Approaching the door he listened closely. No screaming or cries, only heavy footsteps up the stairs. He could easily   
overpower both men, but the element of surprise was definitely desirable in this situation. 

A few more seconds pause, then he picked the lock, noiselessly letting himself in and closing the door with the quietest click. Mrs Hudson lay face down outside her front door. He quickly felt her pulse. Alive, breathing, but unconscious. He rolled her gently onto her back, and continued, like a great black cat, up the stairs. 

He could hear John’s voice, slightly raised, and the deep rumble of the men’s voices.

‘I told you, I don’t know. I don’t know where he’s gone! I don’t even know where he came from..’

‘He only left here half an hour ago mate, we know...’

‘I am not your mate, and if you know that, then why don’t you know where he is, eh?’

Khan silently begged John not to get smart with the two men, who were so very clearly not smart – who employed these dolts anyway? 

He heard a muffled thud, and a gasp from John. A few more seconds of silence. From the light beneath the door, and his incredibly sensitive hearing, he could place one of the men behind the front door, the other close by.

The click of a safety catch. ‘Are you sure you don’t know?’

‘No.’ John spat. ‘I’ve got nothing left worth threatening anyway.’ There was a distinct sneer in his voice.

A sickening crunch as a fist met with his nose, a soft thud of him falling to the floor.

Khan could not wait any longer. Two sharp kicks from his heavy boot broke the old lock, slamming the first man into the wall. The second knelt, the muzzle of his gun to John’s neck. He stared, wide eyed, at what he was looking for suddenly presenting itself and walking straight for him. 

Khan held out his hand, his commander’s voice rumbled from his lips. ‘I trust you will be intelligent about this and give me the weapon.’ He held out his leather-gloved hand. John’s body slumped in relief at the sound of his voice, spilling more blood on the carpet.

‘Jog on’ the man smirked, pointing the gun at Khan. ‘I think you’re coming with us, handsome.’

Khan arched an eyebrow. ‘Are you sure about that?’

The next not-particularly-original remark never came from the kneeling man, as a swift kick sent the gun across the room, and Khan’s knee connected beautifully with the bridge of his nose. His friend lunged after it, only for John to trip him. In his attempt to get up, Khan gave him a vaguely pitying look before breaking his nose as well.

He stepped with sight disgust over the men before helping John to his knees. ‘Are you alright?’

‘Bloody nose but I’ll live. Thanks, mate.’ He smiled gorily as he held one of Mrs. Hudson’s beloved sofa cushions to the wound.

‘I’m sorry, I just have to go downstairs, and I may need your phone...’

Mrs. Hudson was coming round, and mumbled something about having such a handsome young man to look after her in her hour of need as Khan propped her head with his coat and called an ambulance. ‘It would be wise, in case of cranial damage..’ he murmured.

‘Did you get rid of those nasty men? Were they here for John? I asked them what they wanted but...’ she shrugged. ‘Then I was on the floor!’

‘They have been taken care of, rest assured.’

In the fuss of the paramedics, Khan escaped upstairs to John. He stood at the kitchen sink mopping his nose. He had cleaned up reasonably well.

‘I’m sorry John.’

‘Does trouble just follow you?’ 

‘I thought it might follow me away from here, actually.’ He half-laughed.

John turned back to him. ‘You alright?’

‘Perfectly well. You?’

‘I’ll be fine, he was a remarkably poor shot actually, it’s all soft tissue bruising I think.’

‘I think it may be time to contact Mr. Holmes, and arrange some treatment for these gentlemen.’

John nodded slowly, eyeing the slumped bodies on the floor. ‘Thanks. For coming back.’

‘I should not have gone. All you are guilty of is showing me kindness.’ 

He placed a gentle hand on John’s cheek.


	14. Chapter 14

As was already the custom, they were interrupted, this time by one of the police-officers coming upstairs to take a statement. John figured that, even though Mycroft was likely to make the whole case go away, it would be kinder to just answer the young PC’s queries. Khan kept to the background, only answering questions directly aimed at him. John got a distinct feeling the officer wouldn't be able to remember anything about the man afterwards – his camouflage-skills were remarkable. 

Finally alone, John made tea. It calmed him down, and Khan seemed to enjoy the hot beverage more than even food. After, they went to see Mrs Hudson. She was confined to her sofa by the paramedics (who had almost ruled out a concussion, but still wanted her to take rest after “the shock” – little did they know about her life with Sherlock in the house!), but chipper enough. Khan entertained her with stories of his childhood, suitably adapted to fit the times, while John made her a light lunch and fussed over her in his usual doctorly manner. He noticed little stars in the warrior’s eyes every time their gazes met. John couldn't determine whether Khan was mocking him or flirting with him, or just amused at his worry. He made a mental note to find out soon.

Once Khan closed the door into the living room behind him, John pushed the tall man against it. To Khan’s credit, he was able to keep his body from reacting to it as if to an attack. Instead, he stared down at the doctor, who still somehow managed to look _down_ on him with those lovely hazel peepers. Khan’s smirk was challenging, but neither spoke until John tugged the taller man down by the shoulders and kissed him hotly. The dark man’s hands and arms moulded themselves around the other’s body, as if they had always belonged there. He stroked down John’s back as their kiss deepened, hands picking at layers of clothes. Watson pulled away and smirked at his friend, who was already so undone by this little caress. He saw a sliver of rebellion in the bright blue eyes, in stark contrast with the blown pupils and already growing erection against John’s belly.

The doctor pulled away to have a better look, mighty arms letting him do so with utter reluctance. 

“We don’t have anything to eat in the house, and if we don’t go grocery-shopping now, we’ll never leave.”

Khan growled. Actually _growled,_ like a hungry, angry animal. John could almost imagine sharp teeth bared in a scowl and the thought sent huge waves of dread down his back, but he stood his ground. He stepped away further, eyes never leaving the oh-so-dangerous (and didn't he love it!) man in front of him. When his companion realised that the shopping was going to happen, whatever his thoughts on the matter, he lowered his figurative hackles, but the look on his face didn't leave John with a lot of confidence for a quiet afternoon. But hey, who wants peace and quiet when there’s a genetically engineered super-human soldier in your house?

Khan cheered up while perusing the aisles of Tesco. John noticed the difference with the previous day immediately. The man was no longer on a quest for sustenance and shelter, so he allowed himself to slow down, relax, take in his surroundings with greater animation than part of a survival-technique would allow. Before long, he was taking foodstuffs off shelves and reading their contents, comparing, picking only the best for dinner. John felt, yet again, irrationally proud at being in part the reason for this shift. He knew Khan would slam shut again at the merest possibility of real danger, but right now, they were enjoying shopping (as much as shopping can be “enjoyed”) together, even getting “cute” glances. One older woman smiled sweetly at their ministrations and commented how nice it was to see people in love. Both men ignored her and each other’s blushes.

The walk back home was pleasant. Khan was enjoying the sights and smells around him, even sparing a woman feeding the pigeons a smile. His handsome face looked younger, and John could have sworn he heard the man hum some melody several times. Once inside, they put away the groceries. John was contemplating making tea, perhaps have some lunch themselves, but Khan obviously had different plans. He stood behind John and wrapped his endless arms around the shorter man’s body, just the feeling of his heat expelling any thought beyond animalistic lust from the good doctor’s mind. They wouldn't make it to the bedroom today.

They did, however, somehow make it onto the couch. Kissing, nibbling, moaning and mock-fighting each other finally got them on the ground, where both men were quite happy to stay in the heat of passion (they would regret it afterwards, despite the rug). John was currently on top, straddling Khan’s hips with a very wicked smirk on his lips. The commander was happy to humour him for now. The doctor pinned his strong wrists above his head and ravished his mouth, then his neck. He was nibbling and sucking on that beautiful pale throat until it was littered with purple marks of ownership and Khan was a panting mess under him. His unbearably hard erection was searching for friction, but John wasn't allowing it just yet.

However, the collar of his black shirt was in the way of John’s ministrations, so he briefly released Khan’s arms to pull it off. Next thing he knew, his back was resting on the wooden floor and Khan was growling against his neck.

“No fair!” John huffed, but he soon had to agree that it wasn't the worst position he had ever been in. In fact, the way Khan was currently riding him, it had to be one of the best. Suddenly, the mass of muscle and testosterone went entirely still and John opened his eyes. The other man’s face was quite unfathomable.

“The way you were tending to your landlady…” He seemed to be struggling for words. John frowned, but waited patiently for more. “It was… Nice. And… Hot.” Watson felt his hairline swallow up his eyebrows in surprise – not a response he usually got when giving medical assistance. But that explained the looks, and Khan’s reluctance to go to the shops. He smiled at his dark-haired friend and pulled him in for another kiss. “Thank you.” His whisper was lost somewhere between their breaths and tongues.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here be fluff. Sorry, not sorry :P

Khan couldn’t help himself. Looking down at the greying doctor, he found a familiar sensation tugging at the corners of his mouth. A gentle but sincere smile stretched high into his zygomatic arches. 

The warm, sure hands on his chest and abdomen, and his gentle blush at Khan’s unusually stuttered compliment seemed to send a swelling heat through his stomach and ribcage. Not arousal, although plenty of that remained. A forgotten strength of affection stirred. His magnificent brain almost instantly suggested he suppress this emotion. It was unknown, dangerous. It could render his force field of physical strength and arrogant apathy entirely useless.

For once, he ignored the thought. The consequences of this, good or ill, would find him regardless. Just for now, it would be simply wonderful just to feel. To have those caring hands and that sweet mouth to himself for a while. To appreciate this strange man, who had so suddenly become warmth, comfort and home. Things   
Khan never knew he needed until now. 

‘Perhaps we should move somewhere a little more comfortable?’ his voice sounded strangely gravelly, even to him.

‘Erm...yeah.’ John smiled a little. 

As Khan shifted back to move off John’s legs , the smaller man sat up. He twined his arm around the small of Khan’s back, the other stretching to between his shoulder blades and pulling him into a wanting and hungry kiss that surprised both of them. Khan’s broad hands found John’s shoulders, his back, the hem of that infernal jumper that kept them apart. One bold hand traced his spine up to his neck, the pads of his fingers trailing roughly through John’s sandy, peppered hair.   
John’s catching breaths made the kisses shorter, but still desperate and frequent. A soft moan against Khan’s lips arched his back, his hips unashamedly riding John, the friction he had previously been denied sending sparks over the arches of his hipbones and through the taught muscles of his back. 

The jumper had to go. What had initially started as an attempt to slide a suggestive hand beneath it and over John’s back ended with it being pulled impatiently off. Thankfully, no button down shirt underneath it, only a t-shirt which was also thrown aside. 

John’s freed hands found his hips, pulling him insistently closer, any attempt at teasing lost in the heat of the moment. They slipped to grasp those tight buttocks, and a gesture that firmly said ‘Mine.’ Their bare chests pressed against each other, John’s hot mouth suckling another mark just above Khan’s nipple, before his tongue licked and soothed.

Losing himself was not something that Khan did. Control could have been his middle name. And yet here he was, head back, lips parted, moans and mumbled curses of pleasure occasionally escaping between them as John’s mouth and hands claimed his paper white skin. Arousal was a white-hot, coiled spring in his belly. Soon the rocking of his hips would become too much but just for now he couldn’t quite...

‘God...’ John rather insistently pressed him back. ‘You’ll be the bloody death of me you will.’ That irrepressibly cheeky smile still played on his lips. ‘Maybe bed? Or...sofa or shower or...’

Clearly Sherlock, whoever he was, had been missing out. Khan slowly unfolded his limbs, rolling his shoulders to stretch his back as he stood. The hand he offered to help John up pulled him a little closer than necessary.

‘Wherever you would prefer, Doctor.’ He purred against his ear lobe.

‘Upstairs. Shower. Doctors orders.’ He winked before he vanished up the stairs.

Well. If he was going to shower he supposed it was good to be naked. He removed his trousers slowly, folding them over the back of the sofa, leaving his underwear and socks on top. Certainly, a more primal part of his brain wanted to run up the stairs, tear the remainder of John’s clothes from his frame and have him, no, fuck him, against the bathroom tiles. But somehow, knowing the good doctor was upstairs waiting and wanting him made him take his time. A fairly exquisite form of torture. 

Making his way upstairs, he could hear the faint rush of running water. John had anticipated the awkwardness of waiting and entering the shower together, and begun by himself. He was good at that. Anticipating what people needed, and giving it to them without chiding or embarrassing them. He would have made an admirable ship’s doctor, Khan thought wistfully.

Late afternoon sunlight flooded the bathroom through the frosted window, catching in the clouds of steam, a gentle vanilla glow against the white tiles. He pulled back the shower curtain a little. John stood with his back to him, head down, gratefully letting the spray warm him. The water traced the softening muscles of his back, the gentle curve of his buttocks, forming rivulets down his thighs. His hand wrapped around his cock, still deep pink with want, teasing and stroking.  
He stepped in, gently slipped his arms around his waist, his hands pressed warmly against his stomach. John leaned back into the embrace, groaning deep in his chest as his hand was replaced by Khan’s. His lips and tongue explored the rather impressive marks along John’s throat and the crease of his shoulder as his hand continued John’s motions, if a little faster.

John’s protests that he wouldn’t last were somewhat half-hearted, and soon stopped as he turned back a little to accept a lingering kiss, capturing Khan’s full lower lip between his own and suckling it, delighting at the noises it drew from him. 

Looking down over John’s shoulder, Khan took in his prize. The faint scatter of body hair slicked against him skin by the spray. The muscles of his chest and belly were perhaps not as developed and obvious, but still strong and solid. Built for utility and comfort. And the thick cock grasped in his fingers, dark and achingly hard. The water and the motion of his hand made wet, explicit sounds, mingling with John’s moans and the steam.

As Khan’s lips teased at his ear lobe, the deep rumble of his voice growled ‘Come for me, John..’. John was almost immediately obedient, almost whimpering as his shoulders tensed with his release, hot sperm spilling over Khan’s fingers.

There seemed no need to move, and neither had the inclination anyway. Khan rested both hands on John’s belly, and both stood under the spray, peaceful and together in a way neither had anticipated. The past few days had proved that things could definitely change quickly, and the misery and loss both had endured was enough. It could all be pushed aside for now. Just for now.


	16. Chapter 16

Every day, John woke up with a little pang of dread that it had all been a dream, conjured up by his bereft mind to deal with the death of his best friend… But his fears were soon alleviated as he either saw or felt Khan’s reassuring presence somewhere about his person. Who would have known that that big scary super-dooper-soldier would be an absolute cuddler? John’s new secret pleasure was to try and not wake up his bed-partner for as long as possible while he studied the sleeping man’s face. It was a beautiful sight to behold, every wrinkle smooth and muscles relaxed. 

Sometimes, Khan would have a nightmare, and even though even in his sleep his control seemed to be admirable, John could tell that if he could take a peek behind those closed eyelids, the sights would be truly gruesome. Despite having been in and around combat, both on and off the battlefield, the doctor couldn't even begin to imagine what Khan had been through. As much as he wanted to help, to take away the horrors, all he could do was hug the other man close. It seemed enough to calm him down, at least. After a week, as they settled into a comfortable routine, John’s morning-dread started to die away. 

Nothing had been said out loud or set in stone, but Khan stayed. The very first morning after that was “decided”, he went about getting a job – not a big problem with his remarkable physical strength – and everything else fell into place after that. John soon after found a position at a hospital about 45 minutes’ tube-ride away, steadily ignoring the reason he wouldn't try to find a position closer to home. Rent was paid and groceries were bought together, there was daily sex and biscuits for tea. 

Both men seemed happy with their arrangement – the word “relationship” was never mentioned – but at times, John could see the restlessness in Khan’s posture. Sometimes just a tensing of the shoulders, or exaggerated zeal with hoovering (whenever they had a spat, the warrior would always embark on a tour of housework), making John joke that he would make holes in the rug at this rate. Other times, Khan would be reading a book, completely oblivious to the world around him, but his leg would bounce up and down nervously, as if of its own accord. As time passed, he got jumpier around loud sounds or sudden commotions. 

John knew the man was trying hard, but a life of tranquillity was only good for so long when one is used to the excitement of battle. The doctor had to admit, with some shame, that Mycroft had been right during their first meeting. He missed the adrenaline coursing through his veins so badly. Whenever he started a row with Khan, a dark itch at the back of his mind anticipated, nay, hoped for Khan to attack him. Not with deadly intent, perhaps, but with enough force to make things interesting. Khan never did. In the bedroom, of course, a constant battle for power was ongoing, but not once had either man lost control in such a way as to harm the other. Never that.

And so it was a blessing, rather than a curse, when Khan and John were walking home from the shops one evening and the warrior noticed they were being followed. With hardly a word, he alerted his companion to the danger. Grocery bags were carefully placed on the closed lid of a dumpster and both men took in a position – the alley was dimly lit, but at least there was enough space for a fight. Soon, their “tails” showed themselves. Khan tried to shield John as much as he could, but there were too many attackers for him alone. They were losing ground and despite the alley having another exit, fleeing had never been the plan. Nor was it a possibility now that they were completely surrounded. The hybrid managed to knock out a few of them, cripple some others, but the men – highly trained operatives of some kind, that much was obvious – just kept coming.

It seemed to be happening in slow motion, just like in the movies – two men grabbing Khan by the arms, a third jamming a needle in his muscled neck from behind... His eyes widened in surprise and locked with John’s. However, just as the doctor started towards his partner, a sharp pain in the back of his head rendered his world black and pavement-hard.

\---

A gnawing headache and rancid smell of trash signalled the coming of next morning to John. He was disoriented and hurting, but somehow managed to gather himself and last night’s groceries, and make his way home. This time, it was Mrs Hudson who was fussing over his bloodied scalp. Despite the worry in her eyes, she didn't ask about Khan. 

As soon as John was alone in the flat, he called Mycroft. While the phone rang, he took a shuddering and calming breath, but Watson knew he wouldn't be able to keep his voice level. He was past that.

“John, good mo-”

“Where is he?” John broke off impatiently, voice cracking with anger and dread for his friend. “What have you done to him? We had an agreement and he didn't break it, so WHERE IS HE?” Realising that last bit had made him sound a little bit like Moriarty, John shut up and took another shaky breath.

The other end of the line stayed silent for a while. Then, quietly, “You've lost him?”

John felt the room and the entire world around it spiral downwards. Mycroft Holmes was, of course, a first-class liar. However, the truth behind his question was so evident, so glaring, that it could do little else but shatter the little bit of security John had gained in the past few weeks. Once again, the person closest to him was gone. But he would be damned if he let another friend die.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter has been a while coming. It was fun to write though - hope you enjoy the adventures of Khan and his new friend ;)

Khan awoke groggy and nauseous. An oily, sickly taste coated the back of his throat. Raising his arms to rub the fog from his vision, he found them heavy, his muscles screeching in protest at the smallest movement. He gingerly ran his fingers over is features, trying to assess any damage and piece together what may have happened.

The bridge of his nose and left eye socket were tender, but already beginning to heal. Relatively recent injuries, no more than 12 hours old. A puncture wound in his neck was swollen. The tip of his finger tracing the injection site jolted the memory into his aching head. The many strong hands grasping him, exposing his neck, the stab of the needle, the blind panic and desperately reaching for John.  
Where was John? Khan slowly and laboriously sat up, and promptly vomited. Heaving a last few miserable gasps, he heaved his shivering frame to standing, holding the wall for support. In his mind, his strictest captain’s voice instructed him to pull himself together. The room was small, damp and cold. The walls and ceiling were concrete, broken only by a small gap at the top of the wall. Even that was covered by metal bars. Moss and algae trailed in long drips down the walls.  
He hoped John had escaped, he tried to remember where he had gone, he vaguely remembered his fingers desperately scrabbling for John’s as he was pulled away. But his head was still full of thick fog and he couldn’t think.

A thick glass porthole in the door was the only opening he could see through. Unlike his room, the corridor was brightly lit and sterile, more like a medical facility than a prison. As he watched, a young soldier, hard faced and in a deep green woolen uniform greatcoat rounded the corner, marching directly towards Khan’s cell. Khan only glared back as he inspected him through the porthole.

‘Idiots! You’re all IDIOTS!’ the man thundered suddenly before storming back to the other end of the corridor. The soldier’s English was only a little broken, but spoken with a thick Serbian accent. That, and the uniform may explain something of his location.

Dragging another young man back towards the cell by his wrist, he pointed to Khan, yelling and obviously berating him in his own language. In his addled state, Khan could only pick out odd words which he could understand. ‘Animal.’ ‘Pneumonia.’ ‘Alive.’ ‘Tissue samples.’

But of course. This was nothing to do with John. His superior genes made him a valuable commodity in this time period, and once sufficient samples had been taken for his DNA to be replicated, he was nothing but a liability. He was not sure he wanted to hang around long enough to find out how liabilities were disposed of in this place. 

Both men marched away, the younger being continually berated and vigorously smacked around the back of the head by the other. Khan slumped, sliding down the wall until he sat on the floor, his head in his hands. Judging by their location and the time of year, even with his very unlikely escape came a high risk of hypothermia before he found civilisation. Even escaping the room at present could be difficult. He was weakened, although his strength was quickly returning, but the walls were thick concrete and the door had obviously been designed to be blast-proof.

As he glanced at it for weaknesses, it slowly began to creep open again. Six uniformed men entered, and even though he offered no resistance, he was held down and sedated. They obviously were taking no chances. He heard his cracked voice gasping as he slipped into unconsciousness once again. ‘John…’   
***

A nagging white glow awoke Khan. It started fairly dim, but soon it was nearly blinding. He tried to raise his hand to shield his eyes but realised it was strapped down. Vague memories drifted in and out of his mind, although he was still not entirely sure what order to put them in. He felt the gentle pressure of a pulse monitor on the thumb of his left hand.

He felt cool fingers gently clasp his. The light had seemed to soften. It was like being in the medical bay back on his ship. Memories of home and his crew lured him enticingly back into sleep, before a decidedly crisp accent stirred his drowsy brain. ‘Khan?’ A thumb joined the fingers, stroking gentle circles on the back of his hand. ‘Come on Khan, time to wake up.’ The voice seemed somehow familiar.

He opened his eyes slowly. There was a figure by his bed. His usually brilliant mind felt like it was swimming in custard as it laboriously assembled the puzzle pieces around him. Surgical mask and gown. Pale and careful hands. And the eyes. It was somehow like looking into a mirror. He screwed up his eyes and opened them again just to check that he wasn’t.

The voice continued in the same soothing tone. ‘I know you can hear me, so I just want you to listen. They believe that I’m nursing you back to consciousness after you reacted badly to the sedative. You are absolutely fine. They want to protect their investment, as they havn't managed to take tissue samples yet, so for now you are under my medical supervision. You will need to rest for approximately two hours. Nobody should disturb you, doctors orders. Then I will return and unstrap you, and we are going to escape. Understand?’

Khan could only nod, although his mouth wanted to ask at least six questions at once. ‘There’s water by your bedside, drink while you can.’ The figure slowly rose to his full, quite considerable height, and left.

***

The sky was starting to darken when the masked figure returned. Khan remained lying limply on his bed. If he was being nursed back to health, then it seemed best to appear like he needed nursing. Khan did not trust easily, but something about those eyes and that voice, and the fact that this may be his only chance to avoid a very messy demise, made him trust the stranger. He entered the room again, quietly clicking the door shut. ‘Better?’ he asked cheerfully, carefully removing the pulse monitor and inspecting his thumb and fingers whilst his other hand began to work at the restraints around his wrist. His wrists were quickly free. He sat so they could both loosen his leg restraints, the stranger keeping his eye on the door. He glanced at the wall clock once Khan was entirely free.

 

‘We have exactly two minutes to make it down the corridor outside and out of the fire exit. Walk calmly until we get to the door, whose guard should be distracted for approximately five minutes. Once we are outside, I would politely suggest that you run like hell. You must at all costs reach the tree line, with or without me. If I am shot, continue without me, you’ll only endanger us both if you stop. If you are shot and I can’t reach you, allow yourself to be captured. They won’t be shooting to kill, not you anyway. You will die incredibly quickly of blood loss or infection, and they are the only medical help for miles around. I know your capacity for cell regeneration is far higher than average in humans but let’s not risk it.’

‘Who are you?’ Khan’s eyes narrowed ‘And why are you assisting me?’

‘A friend. And because losing one flatmate is unfortunate. Losing two is just careless. Coming?’

They exited the room slowly, the stranger sliding a slim and yet surprisingly strong arm around Khan’s waist as though helping him along. Khan went along with the act as well as he could, slinging his arm around that slim neck and shuffling slowly along. A uniformed guard rounded the corner. Khan kept his head down, staring blankly at the floor and hoping he looked dazed. Eyes narrowed, the guard regarded both suspiciously. Khan could feel his shoulders tense, ready for combat, and quickly tried to turn it into a wince of pain. The stranger answered the questions in perfect Serbian, looking politely surprised at being questioned. He simply explained that he was assisting Khan back to more comfortable quarters on orders of the sergeant, and that Khan would be properly contained once he got there, although he was really no threat at all in his weakened state.

Khan gave no indication he understood what was going on, only leaning weakly on the stranger’s arm and staring forlornly at the floor. The guard eyed them both warily but waved them past. They continued a slow and rather pathetic shuffle to the fire exit until they were sure the guard was out of sight. The stranger allowed his shoulders to sag just a little in relief. He turned to Khan, pulling off his surgical mask and head covering to reveal thick and straggly black curls pulled into a ponytail, a long straight nose and a rather gorgeously full bottom lip so remarkably his own. Khan only twitched an eyebrow in surprise. ‘A pleasure I’m sure, Mr. Holmes.’ 

‘Same to you, Mr. Singh.’ A mischievous half-smile played on Sherlock’s lips. ‘Ready?’

Khan nodded once in response, before booting the door open. Alarms screeched around them as both bolted. There was maybe three hundred yards of open grassland to cross before reaching the trees. Khan could only think this place was guarded by isolation alone. A shout went up behind them, two soldiers were in hot pursuit and Sherlock was already dropping behind him. He heard a loud curse as he tripped. Khan’s first instinct was to turn back, but Sherlock had been emphatic about him reaching the trees. Sherlock was putting up enough of a fight to detain both soliders, as Khan turned back he yelled ‘RUN!’  
Khan tore himself away and sprinted towards the trees. He kept running, although there was nobody obviously in persuit. His breath tore in and out of his mouth as he sped further into the woods. Sherlock had not been specific about what he would find there, but a few more strides in, he noticed a figure among the trees, beckoning frantically. He was in a simple black jumpsuit, a handgun in a holster at his hip, and it seemed that Khan was definitely what he was there for.

Speeding towards him, hoping desperately that this was not another trap, Khan was bundled into the back of a sleek black four by four hidden among the trees. The jumpsuited man dived into the from seat , started the engine and floored the accelerator. Khan pulled himself into a sitting position and glanced at his fellow passenger. 

‘The Serbians were treating you well, I trust?’ The elder Holmes asked silkily. He managed to remain dignified somehow, even in an off-road vehicle it was an incredibly bumpy ride.

Khan could only stare at him, unsure whether to be overwhelmed with gratitude or disgust.

‘Don’t worry about my brother. He is a big boy and perfectly capable of taking care of himself. After taking you to the airport however, I will be going back for him, if that puts your mind at rest.’

‘Why did you come for me?’

‘You are far too valuable an asset to lose, Mr. Singh. Both to Her Majesty’s government and to Dr. Watson. Although I believe his attachment may be rather more…sentimental.’ He said these words with a distinct air of distaste. ‘But you have my brother to thank. He was aware of your attachment to John, despite being officially deceased he constantly asks to be informed of John’s wellbeing. He was perfectly alright, by the way, a little shaken but I daresay he’ll live. Anyway, after you were captured Sherlock was insistent that we rescue you. And who am I to refuse him – and MI5?’

Khan nodded gruffly, once, at this, although his heart skipped several beats at the mention of John.

‘Why the Serbians? Why here?’

‘I can only say, Mr. Khan, that you are a priceless asset, this is a place very few people know of, and Mr. Moriarty is an exceptionally well connected man.’

Khan stared into the middle distance as they drove. It was enough to make him, a battle-hardened warrior, feel a little lightheaded that he was going home to John.


	18. Chapter 18

John was beside himself with worry. He didn't like to admit to it – stiff upper lip nonsense was burnt deep into his British soldier bones – but he wasn't entirely sure even a hybrid with superhuman strength would survive what some terrorists (or, hell, even their own Secret Service) were capable of. And all because of him. He couldn't protect Sherlock, he couldn't protect Khan… What was the point of him? He hadn't been able to keep himself from calling Mycroft every day and shouting at him until the man stopped picking up the phone. And then he shouted at the answering machine – he was good at shouting abuse at machines. Not that that thought helped to abide his inner turmoil any. The last thing he said to… _Enough, John, get a bloody grip!_

After four days of Khan gone and fruitless searches (including asking for help of the Yard – Greg was accommodating, but even he couldn't penetrate higher-ranking levels of paperwork), the nightmares started. Raw, bloody, ugly things with no end, and no hope. Death. Lots of it. Friends and patients, none of whom John had been able to save in the past. Sherlock. Always Sherlock. Sherlock standing on the roof, Sherlock saying goodbye, Sherlock on the pavement, bloodied and shattered, like a broken china doll. But no, it wasn't Sherlock on the pavement. His eyes were a brighter, bluer colour. His hair was straight and slicked back. His coat was all wrong. “Khan!” he shouted in his dream, unable to move, unable to reach. Nobody heard his agonised scream. Even he couldn't hear himself. 

John would wake up with a start, panting and sweating like he had just ran the London Marathon, tears sliding down his cheeks and fresh ones threatening to spill from his burning eyes. Shower, food, work, waiting for a call, waiting for _anything…_ It all went by in a mechanic blur, sometimes interrupted by Mrs Hudson trying to cheer him up (and failing – some people never learn) or Greg coming round to tell him that no, alas, nobody by the name of Khan Singh had been spotted anywhere. 10 days since the man had been kidnapped, and no-one was any the wiser. Mycroft was infuriatingly quiet, John’s old friends had been quite unhelpful (although they really tried hard, he knew) and the good doctor was starting to lose hope.

And then, on the morning of day 11, as John came down for the breakfast he wouldn't even be able to taste, there he was. Standing in the doorway, larger than life. Clothes torn and dirty under a coat that so obviously didn't belong to him, face drawn and a haunted look in his eyes bordering on exhaustion, but it was Khan, and he was _there. _John dropped the mug he had brought down from his bedroom and threw his arms around the taller man’s neck with such a vigour, he almost toppled them both onto the ground. He felt Khan’s smile widen next to his neck and two – somewhat less strong than usual – arms envelop him. _Home. He feels like home.___

__However, the man also looked like hell and smelled about the same, so John took him by the hand and led him up the stairs. Khan was almost falling over with fatigue, so John helped him out of his clothes – those were for the bin anyway – taking note of any bruises or wounds. There seemed not to be any visible physical trauma, so that, at least, was a good sign. John turned on the water and helped the taller man gently into the shower. Khan managed the shower gel and shampoo on his own, but the warm steam had made him even drowsier, so John dried him off and wrapped him in his fluffy bathrobe._ _

__“Would you like to sleep first or are you hungry?”_ _

__“Mmmm… Hungry. Then sleep.”_ _

__John felt a prickling in his heart, something between a strange, almost paternal feeling, and pity, at seeing the big scary hybrid helpless thus. A very good reminder of why he had wanted to be a medic in the first place._ _

__They went downstairs, John supporting Khan’s sagging frame. The tall man stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the newspaper John had casually thrown onto the armrest of the couch. When he turned to his companion, the look on his face was almost comically baffled._ _

__“I was gone for more than a week?”_ _

__John cleared his throat in his own confusion. “Yes. You didn't know?”_ _

__“No, I… I think I was mostly sedated. I thought it was a couple of days, at most…”_ _

__He looked suddenly guilty, like it was somehow his fault that he had been kidnapped and held against his will… Someplace or other._ _

__“It doesn't matter, Khan,” John pleaded softly. “You’re home now.”_ _

__Despite his exhaustion, the tall man bestowed one of the most brilliant smiles ever upon his friend. John grinned back, a little goofily, but heart-felt. He deposited Khan on the couch and covered him with a blanket. By the time he had come back from the kitchen with tea and sandwiches – he hadn't wanted to waste time making a fry-up – the superhuman warrior was already sleeping soundly, sniffing adorably at his own hand. John draped himself gingerly over the other’s frame and hugged the big bundle of muscle close. Home had never felt this good before._ _

__\---_ _

__Days passed and the men fell into their old comfortable rhythm again – work, groceries, crap telly in the evening. Sometimes, they would go out on a date – strictly as “mates”, of course. Khan met John’s old friends and even made a good impression on Harry. They didn't talk about the kidnapping much. Khan had explained that the Serbians had probably wanted him for his DNA, but had somehow not been able to take a sample before Mycroft’s people broke him out and brought him home. “To you”. He never said it out loud, but the sentiment hung heavily in the air. So what if it made John’s ears colour red with pleasure and embarrassment? It was sweet all the same. The doctor felt that there was something Khan wasn't telling him, but they were both grown men and allowed to have their secrets. He just hoped it wasn't something… Bad._ _


End file.
